


The Last Man

by Thrownhammer



Category: Bourne (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 75,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thrownhammer/pseuds/Thrownhammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago an unstable asset was imprisoned for uttering a single word: Why? Forgotten in Bourne's wake, Eric Byer discovers his existence and issues a kill order on him. When he escapes, Byer must find a way to stop him knowing he intends to deploy a weapon devised by the Nazis in their final days. Will Bourne, Cross, and Byer be able to overcome their pasts in order to save the future. [Bourne, not OC centric]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Watch without Hands

The Last Man

Chap 1: A Clock without Hands

Death Row

 

Louisiana State Penitentiary (Also known as: Angola)

Eight Weeks Ago

 

 

In a halting yet determined voice death row inmate Maurice Jenkins began his quest for absolution, “Forgive me Padre, it has been nine hundred and thirteen days since my last confession,” the gravelly voice said to the man sitting on the other side of the concrete wall.

“Yes it has been, has it not? Few people are in the position to have such an accurate accounting of time. We have such an understanding of how short life is here, don’t we. Yet, we are in no position to do any of the things that make life truly worth living; the irony of that never seeks to elude me.”

“They are coming for me tonight…” his stony voice quivered just slightly.

“Yes, I know. I was able to view your dinner selection. I could smell the Creole seasoning from the crab boil under the door: a splendid choice.”

“I would’ve had you join me if I could have… I didn’t think to request that,” he said genuinely.

The priest replied gently from his own cell, “I know. It would’ve been a true delight, after all these years, to break bread with you Maurice. There was something you wanted to confess?”

“Will God really forgive me?” the huge man on the other side of the stone wall sounded so infantile.

The padre cleared his throat, “While your crimes are- allegedly- heinous in their breadth and scope, God does offer forgiveness for those who seek it…”

“I know the ‘but’ that is coming Padre… We talked this to death already,” the statement was tinged with ice and anyone else on death row would have been afraid to continue on this line of questioning. ‘The Padre’ was no normal inmate however.

“Yes, but now your time of reckoning is at hand. Death is upon you. There is no reason to hold back now.”

“I didn’t do the things they said that I did…” he said slowly.

“You didn’t kill those girls?”

“Oh… I killed them,” he said matter-of-factly. “They said I did things… sex things and that I ate them and stuff. I didn’t do none-ah that. I just rolled with it- because I got my own cell. I didn’t do anything sick to’em. Truth is I just like seein’ things die. I like to see the eyes, I know the soul leaves- you can see it! They didn’t suffer. There are more of them than they think though. A lot more.”

“All the more reason you should confess. The families will know that they weren’t butchered and tormented.”

“I don’t know…”

“When they go to take you down that hall, would you like to walk with your head held high, knowing that you are a man who can admit his sins? Or, will you be pulled down the corridor kicking and screaming as a petulant child would?”

He laughed loudly, “You’re shrinking me…”

“Is it not true? Would you not feel more like a man, having dropped your charade?”

“Yeah…” There was a long silence in which the man known as the padre hooked his feet in the bars at the top of his cell and started doing vertical sit ups.

“…tell you what Padre; I’ll come clean if you do. Who the hell are you man? Whatcha in for? Word is you’re here by choice! You aint got no release or death date, no medical records, no criminal records, no nothin… They never let you outta the cell- not ever. Shit aint legal.”

Padre paused in mid sit-up, “I have your word- as a true friend?”

There was a long pause, “Yeah man. To you, God, my mama: all of it. I gotta know this shit… That way I take somethin’ with me- some kinda secret. I wanta die with a smirk on my face.”

Padre relaxed his legs and hung upside down, “My name in Kane Tolman, but I was known as Padre long before I was exiled here. I killed people…”

“Bullshit man…”

“I killed more people than Small Pox…”

“Seriously…? So, why did you do it?”

“Because it was asked of me: I killed men, women, and children… all in the name of freedom; for which mine was taken from me. I guess the real reason that I am here, is that I asked a question.”

“What?”

“No, close though. It was ‘Why?’”

Maurice laughed so loudly and deeply that Padre was momentarily surprised, a rarity. “Yeah that one can getcha in a world of trouble. Worst whippin my Moms ever gave was causea that. It wasn’t the question that gotcha ‘ere; you asked the wrong person…”

“Quiet right you are sir. I was a contract killer for the government and one does not question their government. However an ocean of blood flowed through these hands at their behest and thus the reason for my penance. The last time killed, I took thirty souls at once: in blistering agony- in a fire, their screams will forever haunt me.”

“Shit you aint jokin’. Damn man…”

“Yes, I am the devil.”

“Damn, at least I watched mine and they went quick…” he muttered.

“True. Their deaths were a waste in every fashion- including yours. So, I was exiled here. Truth be told, at this point I honestly believe they have forgotten about me. They would have killed me straight away if they were going to and four years is too long for a wrist slap. Perhaps they will endeavor to use me as some sort of scapegoat- as they did with Oswald. Rest assured, when they come for me: it won’t be to grant me a last request.”

“Maybe… Well I’m going to try to get one more dream in. Later man, good luck.”

“Sweet dreams Maurice…”

Later that evening, when they came for Maurice Jenkins, he made one last requested when leaving his cell, he asked to shake the hand and see the face of the man he had spoken to for years, but never set eyes on. The guards refused to open the door, but they lowered the flap that food was passed in and out of and the two men shook hands and nodded silently to each other.

Then he indeed walked down death row with his head held high, as the other men on Death Row pounded their fists on their doors. They did it in time with each other, sounding not unlike a human heart beat. It was a ritual they always preformed, but for the first time Maurice heard pounding from the cell at the very end of block and he smiled slyly. The government man at the end of the hall had finally bought in.

True to his word Maurice made one last confession as to the true nature of his crimes and the location of the bodies of his victims, none of which had ever been found. As they strapped him into the electric chair an hour later, his last thoughts were of the man known only as the Padre and if he would ever make it out of that cell. What he never could’ve fathomed was that the cell was already empty…

 

 

Eighteen Hours later

Reston, VA

 

Retired Colonel Eric Byers’ eyes snapped open instantly at the ringing of his phone. He huffed in exasperation and snatched it, knowing that he was now awake for the duration of the day even though it was three in the morning; he had horrible insomnia and was lucky to ever fall asleep to begin with.

“Eric Byer,” he snapped.

“Code in: Rusty…”

“Aubrey…?” he said in confusion as to why his minion would be asking for a ‘hostility challenge’ to make sure he wasn’t under duress.

“Colonel, sir, we have a situation sir…”

“Reggie that’s two sirs and a Colonel in seven words; this is going to be a very long conversation… What is it- Aaron Cross?”

“Sir, no… it’s the team we sent to Louisiana… they are off the grid.”

“To Angola? Okay, drop the Get Smart quotes and tell me: what we know and what we don’t know…”

“We sent four agents to take care of Padre and we haven’t heard from them in eighteen hours. We know the transfer did in fact occur, his cell is empty. He is no longer at the prison. No one saw him leave the facility. The car entered off the record and left that way as well.”

“Eighteen hours!” he shouted. “Why did their handler wait so long to alert us?”

“They are off the grid too sir…”

“So, let's recap for those just tuning in- he wiped a four man field team, presumably while in full body irons, and then found their handler and took them out too?”

“That would be speculation, sir.”

“Well, the last time we lost one of these guys for eighteen hours he turned up in the damn Philippines…”

“Orders sir?”

He mocked in a cooing voice, “Oh… I don’t know… Let’s see… How about you fire up Google Earth and start searching the globe street by street. I hope you packed a suitcase, we are camping at Langley.”

“Hey Reggie, one more thing, did you know that the phone by my bed is an old rotary dial phone from the ‘70s. Do you know why? Because you can’t do this to a cell phone…” he slammed the phone down on the receiver as hard as he could.

He stormed into his bathroom and gripped his sink in anger as he muttered, “Hirsch, if you weren’t dead I’d kill you myself…”

 

 

Seventeen Hours Prior

Death Row

Louisiana State Penitentiary (Also known as: Angola)

 

When the guards allowed Maurice Jenkins to shake the Padres hand they were very cautious to check to see if Padre passed any weapons to Jenkins; they were not cautious of Jenkins passing something to Padre however. After the guards took him away, Padre looked down at the small paper clip and whispered, “Mr. Jenkins, you may just outlive me…” as he listened to the news report, yet again, on the 24hr news network:

[FBI agents arrested several senior CIA officials today in connection with the broadening scandal enveloping Washington today—Assassination program code-named "Blackbriar" was exposed by a former assassin named David Webb— Program reportedly targeting US Citizens in some cases... CIA Director Ezra Kramer produced explosive documents for the Senate Committee indicating "Blackbriar" was authorized at the highest levels of government.

Webb, who was known inside the intelligence community, as "Jason Bourne" jumped from the fourteenth floor of the CIA facility where he was trained in New York into the East River below. While experts say it would be nearly impossible to survive the fall, despite two weeks of efforts, his body has still not been recovered.]

He knew that they would be coming; the news loop had started twelve hours ago. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that he was a primary concern and hence why two weeks had gone by without a peep, but he was a huge loose-end that would need to be snipped.

When the four agents arrived for him a few minutes later, he couldn’t help but mentally tick off the mistakes that they made. First and foremost, they didn’t let the guards transfer him from his cell to the motor pool. Death Row guards are at the top of their career field and strictly followed rules that had been hard learned lessons over the thousands of years prisons had existed.

First of all they arrived without notice, intending to surprise him but the guards couldn’t find the key to his cell; as it turns out only the warden had them. While the four agents waited for forty minutes, they stayed within his eyesight, which allowed him to assess their abilities and weaknesses.

The forty minutes in his cell were spent in body irons, which were passed through the bars and applied while he was still in the cell. Then one of the agents had cruelly cranked down on so hard that his circulation was cut off. In those forty minutes he was out of their view occasionally, which he used to pick the locks on his irons and loosen them so that his hands could be pulled out easily. When they took him from the cell, they failed to recheck the irons; one of the prison guards started to, but was told to stand down and back away by the agents.

Next was that they let him walk out of his cell, although it was in said full arm and leg irons. They should’ve blown his head off right there or tranquilized him and drug him out. They had been ordered to do the latter and even had an animal tranquilizer gun, but were upset at having to wait and wanted to make up for lost time; they hadn’t thought to request a gurney or wheelchair until the key was found and didn’t want to wait for one.

All of the other mistakes would have been nullified, but for one. When they got to the car the female agent started to dig around in the back seat of the sedan. “Diane, what are you doing?”

“Looking for his seat belt…” all four men, Padre included scoffed at her utter naivety, as they were just taking him out to a field to shoot him in the head.

“Get in the car!” one of the two bigger men ordered. You two ride in the back, you’re smaller…” to which the Padre laughed inwardly as he noticed the left handed man rode shotgun, which made both men in the front ineffective with pistols, as they would be in their interior hands.

As they rode, he rubbed his wrists periodically so they got use to the motion. Angola sat on twenty-two thousand acres and it was surrounded on three sides by the Mississippi. His final dream came to fruition as they blew through the last set of exterior gates. They were waved through without being checked; they were ‘off the books’.

He waited until they turned down a dirt road between two sugar cane fields before he struck. His hands had been free of the cuffs for a minute before he took sharpened tooth brush and stabbed the man on his right in the gut, then in a fluid motion he pulled it out and swung his arm back and elbowed the woman on his right in the face, which was merely the wind up for his lunge at the drivers eye as he looked over his shoulder.

With the two agents in the back distracted and the driver dead, the mouthy man riding shotgun made their final mistake: he went for the wheel instead of his gun. Padre grabbed a fist full of his hair and shoved his head forward as he channeled four years worth of hate and rage into his blow as he rammed his only weapon into the rear of the man's head, where the skull meets the spine. He felt the shaft break off in the man’s skull, as he figured it would, but it had served its purpose.

The car finally veered off the road and into the cane field as he went to work on the two agents in the rear. His rage was so intense, that to an observer outside the car, it would’ve appeared like the two people were trapped in the backseat with a wild animal.

The car rolled to a stop and moments later. Padre climbed out, put the car in park, and stripped the three men while they were in their seats to keep the clothes from getting muddy. He then dumped the bodies in the field. He opened the trunk and laughed when he saw the assault weapons, body armor, and suitcases in there. He added the pistols to them, all but one.

He heard a groan as the female agent stirred from unconsciousness. He grabbed her chin with a vice like grip as he held up a picture of her two children that he had taken from her wallet. “I am still very much put off and will be killing a few more people today. I am asking for a parley. For the life of your oldest child, I want you to give me a name and address. For the life of the younger, I want you to make a sixty second phone call. I will then go to the address you give me as opposed to your address. Are these terms acceptable?”

She thought about it a lot longer than he assumed she would, but he waited in silence. Finally after thirty seconds she slowly nodded.

“You know where I want to go and whom I want you to call, correct?”

She nodded.

“Excellent!” He pulled her out of the car, he had the handcuffs on her and the waist belt on her, so her hands were fixed to her waist but her feet were unsecured. “Turn around and face the car,” he hiked up her skirt around her waist and pulled her underwear down, at which point she screamed.

“Silence…”

More screaming…

“Remain calm…”

She continued screaming.

“I have asked twice in a gentle tone. I will not ask a third time…”

She became silent.

“I asked for two things; do I have them yet?”

“No…” she murmured.

“Then why would I inflect harm upon you and risk your cooperation. Now squat; if you must empty you bladder or bowels please do so now. You won’t have another opportunity in the foreseeable future… I have a few things left to do and will afford you as much privacy(priv-icy) as possible.”

He busied himself with the vehicle, wallets, weaponry, changing clothes and minor grooming. When he was done he loaded her in the front seat and slowly pulled the car out of the field and he stopped where the clay road met the blacktop.

She nervously looked over at him and saw that he had his eyes squeezed shut and was rubbing the bridge of his nose. She offered meekly, “Kane, I’m sorry I screamed; it wasn’t a conscience choice. Your file described you as very gentlemanly; I just didn’t expect to be assaulted.”

“Nor should you. I dreamed of seeing the sun for years, now I curse it! When did they stop issuing government agents mirrored sunglasses, I swear- four of you and nary a pair to be had amongst you all.”

“Mine are in the glove-box… You might look silly, but they’ll help.”

He retrieved the Prada glasses which had leopard printed pattern to them and tried them on. “What do you think?”

She looked at his wild unkempt graying hair and long beard, “Very avant garde… The hair suits you, the beard is horrible.”

“Truly? I thought it wizardly… By the by, there is one thing that will most assuredly result in my blowing your head off- please do not utter the words ‘are we there yet…’” he laughed and slapped the steering wheel as though it were the funniest joke ever told.


	2. Old News

*I can't respond to reviews if you aren't logged in, but Aaron and Marta will be in here. I have 7-9 other chapters done and have written extensively for Jason, Marta, Nicky, and Eric Byer at this point. While there will certainly be sex of some kind involving various people, this won't be a romantically centered story, especially where Aaron and Marta are concerned.

For a picture of my inspiration for the Padre look at my Livejournal under thrownhammer on date 3/26/13.

Waldron, Arkansas

Present Day

 

There was only the slightest change in air pressure inside the little studio apartment to acknowledge the surreptitious entry of its intruder. The slight draft caused the small window in the kitchenette to creak; the double hinged window had been left open. It was slightly ajar causing the light from the noon sun to cut across the room.

As the man walked, cat footed, around the small area he saw that it was as he had assumed from his paltry research; the place was tiny with little to offer as far as hiding places for valuables. The place hadn’t been renovated in at least forty years and probably hadn’t been painted in fifteen.

The furniture was sparse: a sleeper sofa circa 1972 which was folded out into a bed, end table/nightstand, a folding card table, and an old chair. The sheets on the bed had been laundered then used for at least a few days as he still could smell the detergent and the faint smells of the former occupant. The folding table was set up by the window so the owner could look out and see down the sole road to the house which was at the end of a dead end country road. There was an old half eaten breakfast sandwich on a plate next to the morning paper; it was dated March 17th- 10 days ago. Before touching anything on the table he quickly took pictures of it and then the rest of the apartment in case he had to refer to them later.

Upon looking at the table more closely, the sandwich appeared to be ten days old as well, but it was a frozen meal loaded with preservatives so it was hard to tell. The coffee in the cup next to it that had almost completely evaporated, although from the rings it had apparently been full when it was left.

His target had left in a real hurry, something happened to cause them to leave in the middle of breakfast. The trash can was empty, but lacked a liner; that meant they had at least tried to cover their tracks a little. He found that slightly comforting, in that no one was shooting at them when they left.

He put a liner in the can,tossed the sandwich and washed out the coffee cup. He examined the newspaper it looked well read; it was open to the Sudoku and crossword, both were completed flawlessly without notes in the margin. Something about the newspaper made him smile; he folded it and put it in his pocket. Then he collapsed the table, put it away and folded up the sofa. They had been here a few weeks at least. He took one last look around at his latest dead end. This was the closest he had gotten to his target in his six months of looking. Nicky Parsons was proving more difficult to find than he first expected.

As the man once, and most famously, known as Jason Bourne opened the door to leave, a shotgun was jammed toward his face. Out of instinct he grabbed, twisted, and pulled with his right hand as the hammer clicked down on misfire or empty chamber. Simultaneously he struck out with his left before seeing the ancient woman he was sparing with, he grabbed her instead just as she was going to tumble down the long narrow set of interior stairs that led up to the studio apartment.

“Whoa there… Easy… You must be Mrs. Mcgillicutty?”

The woman must have been in her upper eighties and Bourne was impressed that she not only made it all the way up the stairs, but that he didn’t hear her. The stairs were quite squeaky and took him sometime to sneak up, but then it was her house. “Who… who…” she stuttered.

“’Bell mentioned you. I was down this way on business and thought I would stop by. We were speaking every couple of days, but I haven’t heard from her in two weeks or so…” he quickly improvised. “Two young ladies like yourselves, living alone… well I was worried!” he tried his best to sound embarrassed and let a little of his Missouri accent drop; it sounded like she was from Texas although they were in Arkansas.

She was clutching her heart, “My word I thought you were a burglar.”

He laughed and motioned to his expensive dress shirt, slacks, and penny-loafers, “burglars don’t wear hundred dollar shoes…”

“A hundred dollars! On shoes?!?” she scoffed.

“Well ma’am, I’m a salesman of sorts and do a lot of walking and talking to businessmen; they’re also the only pair of shoes I own…” he added truthfully. “Here have a seat for a moment…” he was glad that he wiped everything down and had thrown out the sandwich.

She took notice of his activities as well, “You cleaned up too…”

Out of habit he opened the single barrel shotgun, he removed the one shell it held which basically fell to pieces in his hands. The interior of the gun was rusted, but not beyond salvage. He acted like he didn’t know where anything was and retrieved a piece of steel wool and a little can of household oil from under the sink and quickly started to clean and oil the weapon.

He had it disassembled in a flash. “You’re quite good at that, you a hunter?” she pried.

“No,” he replied curtly.

“Oh, you were a soldier. Mister used to say it like that. You saw action then?”

He froze for a moment as he had a flashback of killing a man in the Middle East somewhere- before Treadstone. He had seen this one before and was his most hated one. He was chest to chest with the man, struggling with a knife for a moment, before he drove it into his chest. The man glared at him with such hatred and then spit in his face as Bourne forced the blade upward to the man's heart. The memory didn’t bother him, it was the way he remembered feeling as he watched the man’s eyes as he bled out. He felt this unabashed sense of joy and power, almost akin to sexual bliss. He liked killing that man; he relished it.

Suddenly he felt someone touching him and he jumped at not realizing that the old woman had moved and was now standing next to him. “You’re back now… …it will never be okay.”

“Huh?”

“People always say ‘it will be okay’ but it won’t be. Not ever. I didn’t understand it, until the day I realized that I never would understand it. That made me sound Fruit loopy didn’t it?”

He cleared his throat, “No. No, you get it.”

“Try out the VA. My husband said it was the only thing that helped, just being around others that ‘got it’.”

He quickly reassembled the weapon and escorted her down the stairs. “Wow, I’m going to sleep well… between you and the gas man.”

“Gas man?”

“Yeah, said there was a leak and had to check the house. I thought he was stealing something up here, but it was just a pen. He forgot his…”

“A pen, from upstairs?”

“Well, yeah. It was just one of those free ones places give away.”

“You happen to know the place?”

“Well, no. Why would that matter?”

“What the guy look like?”

“Well he was a little older than you with long, grayish hair, but premature. Well spoken for a gas man; a real gentleman. He asked for the newspaper and I could tell he was upset when I told him no.”

Bourne was tired of the facade and grab her by the forearm,”That guy came here looking for her- you understand? He was a bad guy wasn’t he?”

Her lip trembled and she whispered almost inaudible, “He scared me… He got so angry about the paper, he didn’t say it but it was in his eyes… I thought he was going to kill me over an old newspaper. I offered him mine from that day, but he said no. Is he the one that hurt her?”

“Hurt her? What do you mean?!?”

“Well, she would do nothing but sit there looking out the window and cry. My poor sister- she passed last year, she had a man have his way with her and she cried like that, for months. The girl had the shower going for the longest time those first few weeks- women do that when they cry. Then she gave up trying to cover it up. She’d scream in the night sometimes… I tried to talk to her, but she never left… only to get food once a week.”

“She was a soldier too… She was hurt in the war…”

“Oh God… That poor thing, she’s so delicate.”

“Women such as you are very observant…”

“You can say it dear: I’m a right ole snoop!”

“Tell me anything at all you noticed or overheard. Anything weird happen?”

“Well, a few days after I saw her last I noticed someone was in my shed… but it’s still locked.”

He pointed to an outbuilding, “That one?” She nodded. “You should probably check it out…”

“Haven’t been in there since the mister passed…”

He went over and looked at the lock; it was rusted and showed no signs of being removed. Looking at the ground he could see where the earth had been moved when the door was opened four or five inches. He pulled at the door and saw that the chain allowed for about a five inch gap. She might have been able to squeeze. He got out his lock picks and quickly picked the lock and pulled the door opened.

The shed was more like a small barn and was packed with junk. Taking a quick look at everything, the only thing that looked disturbed was a tarp. He yanked it off of what it was covering, a disassembled Harley Davidson. He looked at the bike from every angle and the only thing odd was that one mirror was clean. Careful not to move the bike, he straddled it and looked in the mirror, adjusting for her height, being several inches shorter. It was pointed under a shelf, looking under it the only oddity he found was a political campaign button for Hubert Humphrey.

Leaving the shed as he found it, he started churning things over in his mind. “Do you know that you have a Knucklehead in there?”

“Yeah I knew the knucklehead that put the stuff in there…” she laughed.

He smiled gently as he walked over to the porch so she could hear him, “No, there’s a Harley Davidson motorcycle in there…”

“Oh, that! He put all kinds of money into that stupid thing.”

“Is it for sale? I’ll give you twenty-five for it.”

“Twenty-five hundred dollars? Well, I don’t know…”

“No… thousand. I told you I bought and sold stuff. I’d buy it for twenty-five, spend ten fixing it up, and sell it for forty-five…”

She looked like she might faint; he knew she was barely getting by. “Well… Cash?”

“Oh, yes ma’am.” He walked to his car and got an envelope before returning to her. “Here is a ten thousand dollar deposit; I will come back with the rest within four months. In the mean time, keep the room unrented?”

“Oh, sure thing.”

“Let me get a phone number for you and some kind of receipt.”

“Sure thing let me grab a pen.” She wrote him a receipt and he saw a stack of papers by the door.

“Are you done with these newspapers?”

“Oh, yeah. You can have’em all if you want… Here is your receipt.”

“Let me give you a number- in case she comes back.” She handed him a pen and he wrote down a throwaway cell number. “Thanks- I’ll come back for the bike, or send someone…”

“No rush sweetie.”

“Say- What do you think when you hear ‘Hubert Humphrey?’” He knew he thought of the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome, where the Vikings played by he doubted Nicky Parsons was a sports fan.

Just as he thought that- he had a flashback of her in overalls and a backwards NY Mets hat as she used a paint roller to apply white paint to a wall, “I can’t believe you're a Mets fan… I can’t believe anyone is a Mets fan,” he teased.

“Hey jerk, I’m from Manhattan!”

“But the Yankees…”

“…blow.” He saw himself walk forward with the paint roller, “Jason! No…! Remember the restraining order!” she screeched as he cornered her. Bourne! I mean it!”

“I’m pretty sure there is a ‘painted into a corner clause’…”

“Loser…” the woman barked, jerking him back to the present. Jason laughed as she explained, “He lost to Nixon…”

Bourne murmured, “Nixa…”

“Yeah, Nixon…”

“Thanks.”

 

 

Five hours later

Nixa, Missouri

 

As Jason Bourne stood in the corn field, looking at the large white farm house with the wraparound porch, he expected to have a flash back but there was nothing. He looked at it all again: the house, the barn, the old broken down tractor, and the long gravel roadway leading up to them. Still he felt nothing, nothing except for the hairs all over his body standing on end.

Everything he felt told him the house was right, but his internal alarm bells were going crazy. Something was very wrong here. The house had a very deserted look to it, but he knew someone was there- waiting.

He turned and walked sideways through the fields of corn as to not brush up against them. He approached the front corner of the house and was able to get to the tractor with a decent amount of cover. After that there was about twenty yards of wide open terrain. He knew he should wait until dark but it would make it easier on both sides, but right now the darkness favored him more.

He sprinted straight across the yard in a straight line, opting for minimal exposure verses being a moving target. While not as fast as a pro-ball player, he was able to clear the twenty yards in just over three seconds. He ducked behind the porch and followed it to the side of the house and quickly climbed an old chestnut tree to reach the rear balcony, muscle memory showing him that he had gone in and out this way numerous times before.

He ducked behind a window and popped out his Spyderco pocket knife and jimmied the rear window. He slipped inside and he knew someone was in there laying in wait. He pulled out his Glock and slowly crept to the door and opened it a crack. He peered down the hallway and then slowly crept down it, knowing that someone was laying in wait for him.

As he crept down the hall he saw a door cracked on the left and saw someone from behind crouching behind a dresser with a shotgun, waiting in ambush. He raised his hand and started to reach for the door- then froze. Something about the room was… off.

He retraced his steps back the way he came and climbed back out the window, instead of going down the left side of the house, he went down the right. He stepped over the porch railing and moved very slowly down the narrow strip of rooftop between the window and open air.

He crept to an open window and pointed his gun through it, his barrel inches from the man’s ear, “You move you die…”

There was a full ten seconds where neither man acted, before Jason spoke, “Put the shotgun on the ground.”

He sat the gun down slowly, “Look, Jason- its fine…” the man said as he looked over shoulder.

Jason was stunned to see a younger version of his own face and he blinked twice, expecting a flashback that never came. He knew he had a twin brother, but he wasn’t aware that he had a younger one, this man was around ten years his junior. He also registered the use of Jason verses David, an indicator that Nicky had probably been here at some point.

He slowly lowered his pistol, as the hairs on his neck stood up, “Who else is in the house?”

“No one.”

“Oh, yes there is… Get the gun. Can you navigate this?” he motioned to where he was standing.

The other man nodded as Jason moved further down as he climbed out. “There is a car parked on the access road to that field…”

“Okay, I see it…”

“Go down to the tree and run catty corner to the tractor then get to the car. The keys are in it. When you get to it fire a barrel in the air, wait five seconds then fire the other. Take the car somewhere that it can’t be found for an hour, and then meet me in the high school’s dug out. If I’m not there in two hours then I’m not coming, take the car and get to the others, there’s money under the spare tire. Go!”

They both went in opposite directions as Jason climbed in the window, careful to avoid stepping in front of the mirror that his brother was using to ‘bounce’ a mirror image of himself around the house. Jason had almost fallen for the ruse and opened the door to the wrong room, until he saw the sun was casting light in two different directions in different rooms.

He worked his way around to a different door off the hallway, he heard the first shotgun blast in the distance- sooner than he expected. The second followed five seconds later, this told him that his brother made it to the car safely.

An eerie male voice called out from the first floor, “That would be the interloper leaving then?” It sounded like he was near the rear of the house, in the kitchen most likely.

“Come now Bourne… This is foolishness. I didn’t come all this way to battle it out until the bitter end; I am simply looking for answers! You know what that’s like, don’t you?” The man was definitely doing something besides talking: setting a trap, giving directions, or riffling through something. “I am making grilled cheese, would you like one…”

Bourne moved to the bathroom and started cooking up something of his own, “So, are you up for Truth or Dare? Who are you?” Bourne called. He grabbed four aerosol cans and started binding three of them together with athletic tape.

“Ah, an equal exchange then? It’s Kane Tolman; others took to calling me Padre… My turn: which members of Treadstone are still amongst the living?”

Bourne shouted as he pocketed a lighter, dental floss, candle, and a bottle of KY he found under the sink. He took the liquid KY and poured it into a mop bucket then unscrewed some perfume and dumped it as well; he then started filling the bucket with water. “To be fair, I don’t know. Conklin, Abbott, Manheim, Parsons, and some guy name Zorn are all dead. The news said Hirsch is, but I doubt it. I’m the last asset…”

“Come now, we both know I’m following the girl. You always were protective of her- pointless as that was. You brought truth into this- answer honestly or choose dare. What became of Colonel Byer and Ray Wills?”

“I wasn’t so much lying as I was finding out if you killed her. Never heard of them- my turn…”

“No, that was the same question…”

“They were in Treadstone?” he asked as he dumped the water slowly down the butler stairs, the perfume was for misdirection so he would think it flammable and try to rush through it, not knowing it was oily.

“Umm… technically not- fine your turn.”

“Who are Colonel Byer and Ray Wills?”

The Padre roared with laughter, “I guess that means you really don’t know them. Wills was Vosen’s lap dog and is of little import. Byer was an asset, for the DOD sister program to Blackbriar, Colonel Eric Byer US Air Force. If you find him before me- please do me the professional courtesy of not killing him… What’s your angle here- why is such a loyal lap dog attacking the house of his master?”

As he crept to the front stairs he could swear that he could smell cheese, was the dick really making a sandwich? He must be using a melting bock of cheese as a fuse? “I lost my memory on a mission and people kept coming to kill me. They thought I was defecting or something; they overreacted. What’s your goal, long term?” Bourne took a condom from his coat pocket and ripped it open and stretched it over the entire end of the fourth spray can, then held down the nozzle- inflating the condom.

There was a lasting silence, “So, you really don’t remember me- we met once? I thought that was disinformation spread by your dear Nicolette. My long term goal…? My… that is the question isn’t it- as well as a lengthy answer. Short version- they will tell you that I want reciprocity for the sins of all mankind; but all I want is for someone to answer a question. Also, someone owes me for four years of pain and suffering. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for the gas man... You break out of Angola?” he asked as he tided dental floss to the can.

“Ah, the ancient lady was a nosy one was she not… Yes I did. How did you know?”

“The missing section of the paper had an article about three tourists found dead in a field. The whole story was cut and pasted from a CIA script. The prison was only a few miles away, then I read about ‘the Angola Three’-it wasn’t a difficult leap…”

“Well, at least you know about the gas leak in the area. I’ll take the back if you take the front!” which was followed by the sound of sprinting feet and a screen door slamming.

Jason’s eyes opened wide he dropped the IED he was almost done with and ran to the front bedroom. He dove out the window, rolled down the roof: he landed hard and rolled to his feet, his legs pumping furiously. He made it deep into the corn field and just as he was going to rise up to look at the house there was an explosion inside it, all the windows blew out, and it was suddenly engulfed in flames.

Jason Bourne rubbed his head as he looked at the house and muttered, “Ma’s gonna kill me…”

 

 

Eighty-two minutes later

 

Michael Webb didn’t hear his brother's approach at all: he looked to his right, to his left, then back again and Jason was right in front of him. He punched Jason on the shoulder before he thought about what he was doing, “Ass! What are you- twelve?!?”

“Keys?” Jason flipped him the set for the Barracuda he took from the barn. As his brother gave him the other set. “Nice car- you restore it?”

“We both did the first time, I did the second.”

“You ever do bikes?”

“Yeah a few…”

“You need to hide anyway, here-” he handed him an address. “I bought a ‘41 knucklehead, but it’s in pieces. There is a small room rented there, you can hide there and work on the bike if you’re bored. Tell the little old lady we are brothers. You fix it up and we split the profit?”

“Man, a ‘41? That’s what grandpa had. I’ve wanted one for years…”

“Huh… weird.I knew I had to buy it- couldn’t remember why.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go pick it up and lay low,” he said as he grabbed his brother and hugged him. “We missed you bro…”

“I’m sorry- I don’t know your name…”

“Oh, I’m Michael… Sorry she said you had a memory wipe or something.”

“You’re not Mike, he’s my twin… You’re younger-”

“-Pretty sure I know my name. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you look like shit… I’m definitely the better half now. You need to sleep more and use a mud mask at night, or sunscreen or something. You look like- ten years older? That explains why she freaked…”

“Huh?”

“That Nicky girl FREAKED when she found out we were twins. She got up and left in the middle of dinner- left the house.”

“Did she come back?”

“Yeah, she came back a few hours later. Had a ton of lab stuff with her, microscopes, the spinning thing you put blood in, and… stuff. I think she stole it all. She drew like fifty vials of blood from us all and wanted hair and semen and- well she got really scary bro.”

“What then…”

“Well she didn’t sleep for days. She went and got a ton of library books the next day. She just got really frustrated and said she needed a ‘real lab’. Then she got a call that spooked her and told us all we had to leave- to go somewhere and not come back. She packed all her stuff- or rather hurled it in her car and took off!”

“Where to?”

“She said something cryptic about ‘hiding from the hunting tiger within the cave of the sleeping bear’ or some crap…”

“Jesus- When?”

“Today- this morning…”

“Come on,” Jason shouted running to his car. “I need to leave… How could she be so stupid…?”

 


	3. Nicky's Debriefing

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Va

 

Eric Byer had stared at the personal files for everyone involved in Treadstone for so long that he thought his eyes were going to bleed. He had just lowered his head to rest on his desk when the door was flung open by his intern Reggie Williams, “Sir, it’s Nicky Parsons…”

His head jerked up, “What? Do we have a lead on her?!?”

“She wants to talk to you sir!”

“What! When?”

“Right now sir, she’s here!”

“’Here’ where, Virginia?”

“No, the building- in interrogation room 2,” he beamed.

“You’re joking…” he said as he bolted up from his chair and grabbed his jacket. “Who brought her in?”

“No-one, she came to the front door…”

Byer beamed as he raced down the long corridor, “She just get here?” he asked as he open the door to interrogation room two. Nicky Parsons glowered at him from the far side of the table, her knees were pulled up to her chest in a defensive ball, she was apparently naked, and she had a bloody nose. “What the hell? Who did that,” he asked no one in particular. Nicky’s hand shot out like lightening and pointed at his subordinate as he was turning to leave.

Byer grabbed him by the back of the collar and yanked him back into the room and kicked the door shut with the back of his foot. He spun the man and they both assaulted each other for a few seconds. Her initial thought was that Byer was out matched. The other man was twenty years younger, stronger, taller, and had better reach. Then Byer completely dismantled the younger agent and the took the mans gun from its holster.

“So, let me see if I understand this correctly. I am tasked with finding five people… A simple job; not a lot to ask…” Williams was too young to recognize the tone in Byer’s voice, but Nicky heard it. He was a killer that was circling his prey- trying to figure out how large of a bite to take. “One of these people shows up at the front fucking gate asking to speak to me and you assault them and take their clothes?”

“But she resisted…”

Nicky scoffed, not because of what actually occurred but at the man’s utter failure to understand that his life was hanging by a thread.

“Like this?” she heard an awful wet pop and a crunch as Byer did something to the mans hand which was bent behind him. “Huh? Parsons what exactly happened.”

Knowing that the mans life hung in the balance she tried to be fair, “The gate guards sent for a car that collected me, him and three other men pushed me in and brought me to this building, to a crisis room. He told me to strip, I asked for a female agent to be present and he said that he ‘owned my ass’ and that I had now qualified myself for a cavity search. I again asked for a female agent. He refused, punched me in the face, then he held me down at which point I fought back- I scratched him, kicked him in the groin and bit him. I explained forceful penetration by any body part or object qualified as rape in the state of Virgina. He laughed and performed his idea of a cavity search anyway then led me here…”

“Naked through the office pool?” to which she nodded.

He suddenly and violently started pistol whipping the man then grabbed him by the neck and slammed his mouth down against the corner of the table three times. She looked away as his teeth were broken and splintered.

“Take your clothes off- no… Reggie, you only need one hand. That’s a good boy.” She watched nervously as Byer made him strip naked. “Okay now you’re going to go out there and email me your letter of resignation and get the hell out of here- I do mean the state. If I see you again I’m putting a bullet in you and calling it self-defense. You probably have no idea why, do you? You have completely destroyed whatever sort of parley that could’ve and would’ve happened here today. Look at her… I SAID LOOK AT HER! She isn’t ‘the enemy’ or even an adversary. She is trying to defuse Bourne too, she is just doing it a different way. Now go and find her some female garments befitting her station. Nope, leave your clothes here, it’s dress casual day remember. Get out…”

Byer followed the man out into the hall leaving her alone and Parsons wondered if this had been the right move, Byer was on the verge of being psychotic. She saw him as he flipped the light on in the observation room on the other side of the two way glass and unplugged and panned the video camera away from the mirror and left the light on so she could see in there.

He returned a moment later and took off his coat, tie, then his shoes, socks, then unbuttoned his shirt. Nicky squirmed slightly and averted her eyes as he stripped naked. “Look at me…”

“I’d rather not. Your making me uncomfortable Mr. Byer. -What are you going to do?”

“Look at me…” she grudgingly did so. “Do you think I had any knowledge as to your arrival today or your treatment thus far?”

She considered it for a moment and looked at the teeth on the table, “No, sir.”

“Okay, I just don’t want you to think this was some good cop / bad cop BS. We are both beyond such amateurish techniques.” He pushed his cloths over into a pile with his interns, “Here you can wear whatever you want of that…”

“Thanks,” she mumbled without moving. “I want him arrested, I want to press charges…”

“Now, you’ll want to rethink that.”

“So, you’re going to protect him?” she scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“No, I said you will want to think about that. I’m assuming your not here to turn yourself in for treason. That means you’re asking me to take a broad interpretation of your actions. I would ask you to take a broad interpretation to our reaction… or overreaction as the case may be. Now, you seem very calm on the surface but I have a female psychiatrist on my staff- not unlike yourself. That’s part of why I’m incensed right now, because your completely reasonable request could’ve been answered by walking thirty feet. Now, honestly, would you like to speak with her?” he asked earnestly.

“No.” She then added with venom, “That creep liked it though… he is a rapist in waiting. He needs to be registered as a sex offender.”

He threw up his hands, “Hey no complaints here. I had two mothers, two little sisters, a slew of ex-wives and a daughter; I wouldn’t want that creep alone with any of them. I can have him registered in the predator database in two minutes. I am just asking to keep it out of the courts and out of a senate sub-committee. Does: a fistful of teeth, unemployment, exile, and being labeled as a creep for life settle that score?”

She nodded, “Yeah. I didn’t expect a warm welcome, but I thought it would at least be professional- surgical even. Your team takes their debriefings very seriously,” she forced a nervous laugh. “Where the hell did you learn to negotiate?”

“University of Waco…” he said tersely.

“Oh… wow…” she stuttered as she stood without modesty and put on his button down shirt. His eyes remained locked with hers the entire time, he knew she was a psychiatrist and was testing him, to see if he would look away in embarrassment or ogle her and he did neither.

“I apologize for the actions of my minions. Please excuse this debacle. I know that time is of the essence, but we shouldn’t negotiate right now. We both feel like we have been caught with our pants down…” he laughed.

Just as he was reaching for his pants and Nicky started buttoning the shirt the door was flung open and a woman about Nicky’s age stood there gawking at them both. Nicky figured she was of Spanish decent, she had long straight black hair, a tan complexion, and was shorter and curvier than she was.

“Please step in shut the door Sara. Nicky was just wanting another woman to join us…” Nicky smirked and the other woman blushed. “Wow, I completely see sexual harassment and anger management classes in my future. Sara Reynolds this is Nicky Parsons…”

They shook hands briefly, “So, I’m guessing you’re the one that needs a set of clothes? -Sir, can you please get dressed…” she murmured shyly.

He grabbed his pants, “Sorry, I thought with you both being medical doctors- psychiatrist's and all…”

“Sir, I’m a psychologist…”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said…”

Nicky corrected him, “She is not a psychiatrist, she’s a psychologist…” He cocked his head slightly and she continued, “She isn’t a medical doctor- she’s like a liberal arts major that studied the brain… No offense.”

“Believe me, that’s the least offensive thing in here…”

“Oh, Sara I’m so sorry. Can you wait with her while she changes and find the closest five star hotel and book her a room and some spa time for this afternoon, and then reservations for dinner. Take her over there in one of the company limos- an armored one, and get her a security detail. I do mean a security detail, she is not a prisoner and is free to leave whenever she wants. It is okay if we talk about this later?”

“Sure…” Nicky nodded.

 

 

Later that night

 

Eric Byer consciously arrived early for their dinner date; as Nicky knew he would. He would intend to throw her off balance and ply her with a few early drinks, before the bottles of wine he intended to order with dinner. She not only understood his intentions, but knew that he would know what he was up to.

When he arrived, the door was ajar and he reached for his weapon but before it cleared the holster she called out, “Come in, I’m ready- just pouring a cocktail. Would you care for one?”

“S-sure,”he stuttered as he walked around the corner and saw her for the first time, “wow… you look amazing!”

She laughed, more at having landed the first punch than at his remark. “Try not to act so shocked…” She was dressed in what amounted to formal evening wear. The black dress was rather plain and had long sleeves but was very short. She saw him staring at her legs and laughed again at landing her second blow, “…sorry about the dress- she is four inches shorter than I am.”

“No, you look radiant. You had time to get your hair and make up done too?”

“No, that’s all me. A by product of coming from money. You learn to do it yourself to save time. The downside is that I can’t cook; I can’t even make toast…”

“Don’t worry- It’s overrated.”

“Well did you want to get to know each other first or get right down to the brass tacks?”

“Hmmm… brass tacks.” He sipped his perfectly prepared Gimlet, “Well you high society dames sure can mix a drink- hold up, how did you know I wanted this?”

“I asked one of your ex-wives,” she said coyly.

He choked and half spit up his drink, “You’re joking?”

“Nope… Two Gimlets, a Red Stripe, another Gimlet, then I pounce.”

He coughed and then sniffed the drink suspiciously, “You didn’t talk to Francine did you, she would’ve told you to add arsenic.”

“No, Paige. I was going to ask Katie because first wives are always the farthest removed, but I couldn’t find her. Really? Three divorces Mr. Byer… I guess no one can accuse you of being afraid of commitment.”

“Katie and I didn’t divorce…”

“Oh…” it still didn’t click, then,”OH!”

He cut in, “Please don’t say you’re sorry. It was a lifetime ago; a car accident- her and my daughter…”

She cleared her throat, “Well Paige was quite helpful.She still covets you, you know…”

He rolled his eyes, “No, she doesn’t…”

“Oh yes she does sweetie. A woman can’t bullshit another woman. I bet you think she left because you weren’t around enough…”

“Well I was never there- I was in Iraq for months at a time.”

“She didn’t need your time. She didn’t need romance, or roses, or fawning, or cuddling. She needed lust.”

“Huh? But aren’t they…”

“…the same? No Mr. Byer,” she said gently. “She need to be taken- to be owned, to be dominated. She wanted to feel your pent up desire- like you had been doing nothing but thinking about grabbing her bending her over and taking her for months…”

“You’re serious?”

“Um hmm… Do this- Call her and tell her that you miss having her in your life; don’t be all mushy though. What’s something she likes to do- in public?”

“Well she is an opera fan…”

“Perfect, so just be like ‘hey we had some box seats laying around for some spy thingie and didn’t need them...’ Then you plan the thing like an op, scout it out and find someplace to jump her. When she asks ‘what are you doing’ tell her ‘something I’ve been dreaming about for months’. She’ll spread like butter… Make sure it’s during the intermission- if it’s before she won’t be emotional enough and after she’ll be weepy. Make sure you orgasm but she shouldn’t if possible; leave her wanting, this is about you. Then when your done, take her back to see the rest of the show!”

He curled his nose, “No way…” he shook his head in disbelief. She squeezed his knee and took his empty glass and went to make him another.

“Man, I’m telling you this will work. So you take her back to the show, where she will listen to crying Italian women wailing about the love they lost and blah blah blah- the whole time she will be sitting there horny as all hell and not being able to do anything about it, while listening to women missing their true love: the whole time thinking about how you just totally owned her- her lost love.”

He blinked twice, “then what?”

“Well she will most likely want to jump you after the show, don’t let her. Walk her to her door, don’t go inside. Apologize for going primal on her, tell her that she just has that effect on you and you understand if she thinks you’re a pig. However if she wants to do something else to give you a call. Then flee the scene. Then do not call, write, text, any of that. Wait… and wait… and wait. I promise you she will try to hold out a few days but she’ll cave. When she calls and offers a time, say no. ‘Baby you know how jammed up I always am, but I keep waking up in the middle of the night thinking about you,’ or some such rubbish. This sets the expectation for the future of your relationship; that you won’t always be there. Then wait for the time SHE chose and call her and tell her how much you REALLY want to just tell everyone to piss off and drive over there and take her. When she hangs up- you already know that she had free time on her hands, now she will find a way to fill it while thinking of the opera.”

She patted his knee again, “Now the next time do something similar, only this time it’s about reeling her in- she must orgasm at least once. The poor girls been basting in her juices for weeks, throw her a bone.”

“How do you know all this, you’re just a kid…”

This time it was her turn to cough up her drink, “Excuse me?”

He held up his hands in surrender, “My apologies O’ Oracle of Lovemaking; you are wise beyond your years…”

“Oracle of Lovemaking? I am totally using that… One of the assets, they called him the Professor- he was a total hound dog and taught me all his tricks of the trade. I found the psychology behind it amazing. Too bad I don’t know the first thing about picking up men.”

“I was going to say… it sounded like a very masculine point of view. He’s British? You went to a cockney accent for a minute…”

“He was…” She swallowed hard, “Bourne…” she said sadly.

“A wide eyed beautiful young girl that was his boss? He was locked on you before you even saw him coming…”

She smiled faintly as she deflected the inference, “He wasn’t a pig or anything. He was a gentleman of the highest order, but God he loved women. He was a professor of womens studies…” she giggled.

“You loved him.”

She scrunched up her forehead and reeled back, “How could I not?”

“…and Bourne.”

She nodded slowly, “…and Mannheim, Jarda, Bootstrap and the rest. Castle was… creepy and broken, but still mine. They were all my boys, and I loved all of them. Even the ones I had to punish, Padre and Bourne included.”

“So, you do know…?”

“I suspected that he escaped eight weeks ago; when you sent a kill team for him?” she nodded as a scolding parent would.

He nodded, “Yeah. I was against it, but it wasn’t my call. They thought I was biased.”

“You knew him… So, you were with the Emerald Lake Program?”

At this his face went pale and then scarlet, “How do you…! You know what- Never mind, I’d rather not know. This has all been very enlightening, but what the hell are you doing here Nicky?”

She saw his eyes dilate and saw the killer in him take over, she had overplayed her hand. “I knew you couldn’t get Padre alone. Not easily. You would try to approach Bourne.”

“Would I now?”

“If you’re as smart I think you are, then yes.”

“That bridge is beyond burned. There’s no way back from where we are now.”

“Sure there is. There are six billion reasons to bury the hatchet.

“So, you’re saying Bourne wants to actually have a sit down?”

“No. I was telling the truth. I haven’t seen him in months- almost a year. Not since the day Neil Daniels was killed.”

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, “Then what are we doing here?”

“Bourne will be along soon. I was his handler and I know his patterns and how he thinks.”

“…and you can bring him in?” he asked sceptically.

“Yes. I’ll set up lunch somewhere, I’ll pick you up, make sure you aren’t armed or wired, we’ll have a nice lunch, and hopefully you two can kiss and make up.”

Just then there was a knock on the door, she smiled coyly, “That would be dinner.”

“But I had reservations at Marco’s; we had to pull teeth to get a table…” he smirked and she knew he was picturing his ‘minions’ teeth on the table earlier.

“…and you never intended on taking me there.”

“Huh?”

“You were going to get a few drinks in me, get me involved in all the paperwork, and then suggest we order in- since we were ‘making so much progress.’ I’m famished and on my fourth rum and coke; I’d like to eat now. Be a dear and pour me a drink. Make it as strong as you like, it won’t change anything.”

She got up and let the room service in and they set up dinner on the huge patio per her request. They enjoyed a wonderful dinner and several bottles of wine later they were leaning against the railing talking quietly.

“Parsons what are you playing at here?”

“What exactly did they tell you about Padre?”

“Well here, read that…” he handed her a folder that was labeled TOP SECRET: G14 CLASSIFIED.

“G14,” she laughed, “Isn’t that…”

“Yeah, when an intern ordered the new stamps he decided to poke fun. I just left it, it sounds more ominous.”

She flashed through the folder, “That’s what I figured. It isn’t in here.”

“What isn’t?”

“The real reason he was locked up to begin with.” She handed him a binder, “A lot of the front part is the same. Flip forward to page 27- the pink tab. He read it for a few minutes, his demeanor becoming more and more dire. She brought them both three fingers of whiskey. “I figured you’d need that…”

He drained half the glass immediately, “Okay I get most of the science and some of the biochem in here, but your conclusion- is that realistic?”

She scoffed in profound despair and nearly laughed at the absurd naivety of the question, “I wrote that assessment when I was a logistics officer, so I planned for the worst and hoped for the best. What’s my prediction? I am a lady born and bred; I never use terms like this- but we are so fucked…”

“Tell Bourne to come in. We are going to need all the help we can get.”

“I told you, I have no idea where he is nor how to reach him. He is overdue for a visit though.” She drained her glass and pitched off the balcony. A car alarm started going off twenty floors below them, “Yes, a Jaguar!” She sighed deeply, “I’m going to have sex.”

“What, huh?” he said having been rereading the report.

“I’m going to enjoy tonight. You’re welcome to join me, or I’m sure there are traveling salesmen in the bar that would be up to the challenge, or maybe a couple of those Black Water guys…”

“Besides being drunk, what’s your angle? Just ask for whatever you need and it’s yours.”

“I thought I just did, or do you need me to be more vulgar Mr. Byer?”

 


	4. Byer's Remorse

 

Well after midnight

 

Parsons and Byer sat in the center of her bed in the lotus position, both sitting Indian style with her locked around him, pumping furiously.

“Come on Mr. Byer just a little more…”

“I think we’re on a first name basis now…” she had called him Mr. Byer the entire night.

“No…” she panted she felt her body seizing up in spite of herself as she neared orgasm again, he felt it too and started pumping faster. “No… I hate you… I think… you are… a creep…”

He grabbed her ass and clenched it as his breath hitched, “…and I think… you are… a spoiled… vapid… prude… A rich girl… with fifties… ideals…”

She placed her hands behind her on the bed as she arched back and shrieked, “Come on… do it… You-” he never found out what he was this time as she was cut off as she convulsed in sexual bliss.

As her pleasure subsided, she sat forward again and ground on him furiously as he achieved an orgasm as well- not merely ejaculation. She opened her eyes- and gasped; if he wasn’t as engrossed he would’ve registered the gasp as shock as opposed to pleasure. There- near the balcony, she saw something move. Her eyes narrowed to slits, not in an attempt to focus but in hatred as she stared back at Jason Bourne.

Byer started to turn his head in that direction and she ran her hand up the back of his head and grabbed his hair to control his head and clutched him closer to her body in a modest bid to cover her nakedness. She forcibly kissed him, for the first time that night. With the other hand behind Byers back, she pointed to the balcony. The kiss was deep and lasting, at least long enough for Bourne to slip outside to the balcony.

“Thank you for the wonderful evening Mr. Byer,” she lifted up from him and fell backwards on the bed, then half playfully and have seriously pushed him with her feet. “You are dismissed…” she said as she rolled away from him and lay on her side, trying in vain to bottle up her embarrassment. “Your presence is no longer required.”

“So, let me guess… you’ve been with less than half a dozen men,” he inquired as he still searched for her motivation. “You still have a slight awkwardness about you…”

“Oh, Colonel… There are two questions you never ask a woman: number of partners and weight. There isn’t a good answer. If you’re right, I’m a prude and if you’re wrong I’m a whore…” She squeezed her eyes shut in trying to hold her swelling shame and anger in check.

“But, does this mean…”

“It means: I want you to leave, now. If I desire your services in the future, I’ll call you. I am a camel when it comes to sex, so don’t wait around. Don’t kiss and tell either…”

“Never do…” He got up and quickly dressed before heading to the door, “Parsons, thank you- for what could be our last normal night.” He paused and said with strikingly morose tone, “There was no other, nor better way, I could’ve spent it; how pathetic is that…” he asked rhetorically as he shut the door.

She fought back tears as she wondered if he understood how cutting those words were, she knew he did but tried to deny it. He had been an asset; they don’t make mistakes. She lay there in her own sweat and self-pity for a minute, knowing Bourne would sit out there all night before he would dare intrude again.

She clenched her jaw as she walked to the bathroom naked and got a robe, which was thick and impossibly hot, but far better than sweating in one of her two sets of clothes.

She stormed out to the balcony as she mentally flipped the switch from utter embarrassment to furious anger, trying to keep from crying. Before anything else registered she hit him with as powerful an uppercut as she could muster out of her one hundred and twenty pound frame. She grabbed her hand in pain, just as she realized who she had struck. To his credit he hadn’t moved an inch. “Oouch!” He tried to take her hand and she snatched it away.

“You pigheaded jerk! You- cretin!”

Just then they heard the door open and shut, “Parsons, I forgot…” Byers eyes locked on Bourne and they both drew in fluid motions each taking a fraction of a second and Nicky being between them both was the only thing keeping them all from seeing who was faster.

“Whoah!” Nicky shrieked. “Stop it…” she warned as the two men as Byers eyes cut into Bourne who returned his stare with that of mild curiosity. “Jason, lower it,” she reached out and tried to push his arm down and it didn’t move at all. “Byer, give me your gun.” He laughed at her, to whom she retorted, “You wanted to meet him, so here he is. He didn’t shoot Vosen, Abbot, Hirsch, Conklin, or me… He damn sure isn’t going to shoot you.”

“…yet three of them are dead. He could’ve shot Conklin…”

She stormed over to him, “I shot Alexander Conklin!” she proclaimed as she took the gun from his hand. She turned to Jason, “Bourne, put it away. I went to a lot of trouble to set this up…” He nodded and slowly holstered the gun and wondered if the evening’s prior activities were part of her efforts.

He was trying to gage her emotional state and gave up, her mind was spinning. “For the record, I didn’t shoot Conklin any more than Jason did.” She handed Byers gun to Bourne and placed a hand gently on Jason’s shoulder, but awkwardly. “I need to… wash,” she said with clear disgust, her eyes lowered in shame. She walked to the bathroom and shut the door. They heard the fan start and then the shower.

“So, you asked for a meeting with me?” Bourne asked casually as if they were in Byers office.

“Yes, Col. Eric Byer USAF- Retired,” he held out his hand but Bourne never took it, nor did he stop looking at his eyes. “Look- I don’t work for the CIA and I never have. Can you at least wait until the end of the meeting to hate me?” Jason grudgingly shook his hand. “So, is it Jason Bourne?”

He shrugged, “That’s the name that they gave me,” he said icily. “You’re an asset,” it wasn’t a question.

Byer shrugged, “Yes and no... I worked with SOG (Special Operations Group).”

“Military intelligence,” he scoffed with the familiar indifference of a soldier who had all too often been given bad Intel.

“Yes- I feel like another drink, would you rather that or coffee?”

“Coffee; I’ll get my own thanks.”

They got their drinks and returned to the patio. “So, I was SOG but in a parallel program as Treadstone. We are the same model, but have different manufacturers. I specialize now in cleaning up other people’s messes, hence my involvement in your case- as well as several others.” Jason bristled at this, “But, like I said,” he motioned between them both, “we are a clean slate. I know that they royally screwed things up with you and largely you aren’t to blame for your actions.” Jason scoffed at this. “You aren’t completely innocent here. You overreacted at every step- you kept escalating it.” Bourne glowered at him, “That chase in New York in the police car only happened because you bragged about being in Vosen’s office…”

“I needed to get his team off of Landy…”

“...who you also selfishly involved. You really couldn’t get everyone out of that building any other way?” He shrugged, “A fire alarm, a bomb threat- hell a real bomb… Of course you could have. Do you know that a pregnant woman was killed in that car chase when a police car broadsided her?”

“But, I didn’t…”

“Yes, you did. The baby lived- somewhere out there a man is a single father raising a baby because you were showing off. You don’t see him hunting you across four continents for killing his wife- blowing stuff up the whole way.”

Bourne knew at this point the man was a good negotiator as well as a poker player. Everything about his demeanor, from his tone to his hand and eye motions, had been perfected through years of practice. Nicky apparently had to get into bed with him to get what she wanted. But there was something else with Byer, something personal. He nodded, “I see your point. That is a valid argument.”

“I will admit that about 85% of your whole situation was the fault of corrupt men- not the CIA. The other 15% is yours. Unfortunately a lot of assets died- and innocent people like Marie. You have my sincere condolences sir, I feel your loss. I lost my wife and little girl- I know what it’s like to lose a mate.”

Bourne nodded solemnly, “So, are we finished? Is it over?” Bourne reached for a basket of forgotten dinner rolls and started buttering one. He knew that the man was here for a purpose, but he was going to have to ask. Bourne had seen the Top Secret folders marked G14 CLASSIFIED which he had never heard of- so it must be serious.

Byer handed him the stack of folders as Nicky rejoined them, she was wearing boys Batman underpants and an old gray shirt that had ‘Navy’ on the front and had the neck cut out. It was so thin that he could see through it with the light behind her and it was huge on her; he absently wondered if it had once been his. She saw Jason staring at the shirt, “Sorry, I pack light.” The steam was pouring from her head, it was cold tonight.

Byer hadn’t commented on his apparel and she finally noticed it, “Is that a wet suit?” she giggled.

They both laughed too, happy for the lighter mood. Byer answered, “It’s too high to climb so he came from the roof, parachute?”

“No, too many questions this time of night, hang glider…”

Byer slapped the table and laughed, “Please tell me you quoted Snake Pliskin!”

He nodded and laughed as he pulled out reading glasses from his fanny pack and started reading through the file. Nicky’s mouth fell open slightly at this, but she said nothing. She really looked at him, he looked old. Months ago in that café in Spain she thought he had aged a lot, but now it was striking.

Byer nodded to the file, “You might want to skip to the end…”

“Thanks but I’m getting it all…” he said absently. Byer knew he was memorizing every page.

Jason made a move to get up but then stopped abruptly, “Nicky, I’m sorry- do you mind?” he pointed to the coffee then pointed to the file he was reading.

“Nope, I need one myself. Mr. Byer?”

“Jack and Coke- 2 in 1…”

“Huh?”

Jason answered, “He’s from South Carolina; free pouring is illegal in bars there, they have to serve out of little bottles. He is ordering two mini bottles in one glass.”

“Oh…”

While Nicky was away Byer whispered, “It’s locked isn’t it- your hip? That’s why you didn’t stand up. How long does it last?”

Slightly shocked he glanced at Nicky in the other room, “Thirty to sixty seconds.”

“It gets worse and will start to happen when you’re in motion too, beware of treadmills,” he laughed. “You get stabbing pains in your back, between the spine and the shoulder blades?”

He nodded, “I thought that was from the gunshot wounds…”

“No,” he said gravely. “It will turn into a persistent burning which builds in intensity and runs along the entire spine. We should have read the fine print on the TV ads…”

Nicky returned with the drinks and they went back to the file. “Well,” Byer finally said. “It’s been an interesting evening. Meet me in the lobby at 6am…”

“I haven’t said yes to anything yet…”

“It really isn’t a question. She wrote that- feel free to get her to debrief you. I’m going to see if they have a room open…” he got up to leave.

“I’m sure they do,” she said tartly, dismissing him again. “See you then…” This time she followed him and locked the door.

She stamped back to the patio as he closed the folder, “What’s wrong with you…” she demanded.

“Look, I’m sorry! I climbed down the side of a twenty-two story building for Christ sake! I didn’t know what you were doing…”

“Not that- you’re just a jerk with voyeuristic tendencies. I swear that I’m going start keeping a spray bottle by the bed to squirt you with- you’re worse than a damn cat!”

“Use wasp killer, it shoots fifty feet and makes a great ad hoc flame thrower,” he cocked his head in thought, “I can’t remember where I read that,” he laughed at his own amnesiatic humor. “So, I’ve walked in on you before?”

She swallowed hard, “Yeah, this makes the third time. Get up and come here.” He complied, walking into the room as she shut the curtains. “Strip!”

“He was joking, you don’t have to debrief me too…” as soon as he said it he regretted it, but the damage had been done. Her eyes narrowed and he noticed her eyes were puffy from crying and the skin around her neck was pink from scrubbing.

He thought she was going to scream at him and unleash a torrent of hatred but she whispered as quiet as a church mouse, “Now, please.”

He obeyed, removing his harness, holster, fanny pack, and wet suit. He set his jaw and stood rigid as if for military inspection. She got a note pad and started doing exams. She examined his eyes first then his: hearing, reflexes, acuity, and memory. He also had complete physical, as well as other tests; which he saw no reason for.

He actually found the hernia and rectal exam less intrusive than her questions and the oral exam, which made him feel like a race horse as she pulled his lips and cheeks out and felt the insides of his mouth, teeth, and tongue.

“I’ll ask you one more time Bourne: What’s wrong with you?” She sat there writing for a few minutes and he absently wondered if he could get dressed, but held formation.

“Headaches are now constant and invasive, light sensitivity has increased but I have issues seeing in dark places, night terrors, insomnia, bowl irregularity, a cavity on number thirty… it’s quite a list.”

“What’s today’s date?”

He blinked three times rapidly, “I’ve been running everyday…”

She cut him off, “Okay, what day of the week is it?”

He finally turned his head and looked at her and his expression quickly switched from utter embarrassment to hatred, “I’m done.”

He moved to get dressed, “You’re done when I say you’re done.” He froze. “Do you have any other symptoms to report?”

“Other than the things Byer mentioned, no,” he then relayed their conversation.

She seemed unphased by these revelations, “Erectile dysfunction?”

He reared his head back, “No… not that I’m aware of. I haven’t since Marie… and that’s been…” he trailed off.

“…a year ago this week.”

“God…” he sat on the edge of the bed, stunned. “I’ve been so busy running…” he was suddenly overcome with such profound guilt that she couldn’t help but crack and Dr. Parsons was replaced by Nicky. “I… I don’t know what they did with her… I didn’t even think about it!”

She handed him a small envelope, “I looked after her. She is buried in a little graveyard outside a Christian church in the village you were living in.”

He looked at her as though she were the most curious thing he’d ever seen. “The white Spanish one?” She nodded. “She had actually gone there… When did you do it…”

“The day after you were going to blow my brains out in Berlin,” she said with such warmth that it was as though she were thanking him for breakfast in bed.

“You actually went there?”

“Not initially; but I did later.”

“What name did…” he broke off.

“Her real one… There are pictures in there…” she pointed to the envelope.

“Thanks…” he mumbled as he flipped through Polaroids with dates on them. She must have hired someone to tend to the grave and send pictures.

“Uh huh, you’re still not ducking the ED issue. Do you masturbate?”

“No. Didn’t feel like it. It didn’t feel right.”

“Erections in the morning?”

He shrugged again, “No, can’t remember the last time. Never really did. Look, I don’t dream about good things. Nicky, what is all this about?”

“Go take a shower- you smell like a dead otter and the bed is soiled enough. See if you can while you’re in there. I’ll go over my notes and then we’ll talk.”

“Sure…” he said distractedly.

“There is some KY on the bedside table if it will help.” She turned and looked at him and he was mortified as she read his mind, “It’s okay to think about her, to fantasize.”

“That’s not… sick?”

She looked over her reading glasses and held her hand to her heart, “As a woman, I can promise you David, that it’s the highest form of flattery that I can think of; that you still feel so deeply for her. Hell, I’m flattered just to be remembered…” she laughed. “But, long-term… she was a Gypsy at heart. She was all about living in the moment and moving to better places; she wouldn’t have wanted you living like a monk.”

“You’re right. Thanks Nicky…”

“That’s the name that they gave me…” her voice had flatness to it that indicated further questions were not permitted.

When he came out of the bathroom the lights were off and she was already in bed. “Climb in. If I get too clingy just give me a ‘wet willy’.”

He knew she was avoiding talking to him, but he didn’t especially want to talk to her either. As he lay there, he wondered if she knew that he never moved or made noise when he slept. Of course she did. She had probably forgotten more about him than he had, literally.

He lay there on the edge of sleep for a long time, they had left the patio door open and he loved the cold wind blowing across his body. He couldn’t remember his life before, but now he had lived mostly in third world equatorial countries without air conditioning. He relished the air as he spoke softly, “Am I a better person?”

“No,” she said kindly without hesitation. “The old Jason laughed and played pranks. You sang in the shower and you were always smiling- on the inside I mean.” She rolled over but he couldn’t make out her face in the dark, “I thought you be dead by now. I thought you’d eat your gun.”

“Huh…” he grunted as a thought, not a question.

She elaborated anyway, “You hold it all in. You blame yourself for things you don’t even remember. Are you a ‘better person’ morally? Sure, but what good is that if you hate your life enough to end it?”

“What were you to me- really? ‘It was always difficult for me- with you…’ What the hell does that even mean?”

He heard her breathing stop and could practically feel it when she swallowed, “I don’t want to lie to you or mislead you, but you aren’t that person anymore and we haven’t built that level of trust yet.” Neither spoke for a long time. “Jason, what am I to you now? What are we to each other?”

He thought hard about it, “I really don’t know. I’m not sure there is a classification for it,” he laughed honestly.

“Exactly; go to sleep Boy Scout,” there was finality to her voice, as though she was putting a child to bed, but it was still warm and kind.

When she awoke in the morning he wasn’t in bed and she saw her Glock on the bedside table, not where she had left it. She jumped up and searched the suite, she found several bags of men’s and women’s clothing and a note from Byer, but Jason was gone. She walked to the patio door and watched the sunrise and she finally let her shoulders and head slump in despair when she heard his soft voice directly behind her, “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”

She had been certain that he had fled and couldn’t help but perk up, “Yeah, I haven’t slept like that in years.”

She turned and saw that Jason was dressed very nicely, including designer sunglasses. “I need you to book us flights…”

“Where to,” she inquired, powering up her laptop.

“He wants me to go collect some guy named Cross, he is on the run like me.”

“Swell. So, where would he go and where am I going? Please say Paris…”

“Those are the wrong questions. Where would I go and where would he come from?” he asked honestly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Picking Up the Pieces

Moscow, Russia

36 hours later

* * *

Mikhail Kirill descended the stairs from his sound proof office above the dance floor of the packed techno club he owned and waded through the crowd of would be female suitors that always thronged around the stairs and pushed his way to the bar. He reached behind it and grabbed a bottle of vodka. He saw the bar tenders head jerk up in alarm before he saw it was his boss. Kirill made a fake pouring out of the bottle motion and wagged his finger 'no' as if scolding a small child and then held up a shot glass. The bartender nodded solemnly at being scolded for 'free pouring' and not measuring the shots, but corrected his alcohol dispensation.

Kirill grabbed a fist full of shot glasses and waded through the crowd until he reached the corner booth that was roped off his use and for VIPs on the off-chance they got lost and wandered in. As he pushed past the last person, his eyes locked on the man sitting at his table he didn't even flinch when his eyes met with Jason Bourne's. Both of Jason's hands were on the table and motioned to the seat across from him. Kirill pulled the shot glasses from his pocket and lined the four of them up and filled them before passing two to Jason.

"I knew you would come…" Mikhail shouted over the techno noise.

Bourne picked up a folder from beside his seat and dropped it in front of Kirill. Slightly taken back, Kirill did a shot before flipping through the file. He skimmed a great deal of it, but read the conclusion twice. He did the other shot and motioned for Jason to do the same and motioned for him to pick up his glasses.

Kirill reached under the table slowly and moved a lever, then flipped the table top up so that it created a barrier. Bourne saw that there were metal plates welded under the table top so it could be used as a shield. He knocked on it approvingly as Kirill reached into the middle pedestal, which was hollow, and retrieved a mini-Uzi and a backpack. He then put the mini-Uzi back and lowered the table and secured it again.

He held up his hand as he passed the bar and the bartender flipped him a pack of cigarettes which he caught without even looking up. He opened the door and ushered Bourne out as a black SUV pulled to the curb and his personal valet hopped out.

"…the airport," Bourne said curtly. He nodded as he sped off. He saw Bourne looking around the interior of the vehicle and smiled wryly, "Is this the same car?"

Kirill was already smiling, "No, it was ruined. Same make, model, year, color… everything. I get a bulk discount. Where are we headed?"

"India…" Bourne said solemnly, as Kirill looked at him sideways.

* * *

Ten Hours Later

Goa, India

* * *

Aaron Cross had watched the little cemetery, from the patio of a tiny restaurant which was located up a steep hillside, for most of the day. He was about to give up when he saw a Caucasian man from far off- past the cemetery walking towards it. He wished he could've used binoculars, or a scope to get a clearer view, but he knew the man was aware of his presence.

Suddenly he knew the man wasn't right, nothing about this seemed right. As the danger bells went off he heard a voice from behind him, "So, are we both going to keep pretending the other isn't there?"

"I was being polite…" Cross laughed inexplicably, but didn't move an inch.

"You mind if I join you?" Bourne asked as he pulled out a chair.

"Please," Cross looked at him for the first time. "I thought you'd be taller."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"A friend of yours?" he nodded to Kirill as he passed the Cemetery and made his way up the hill.

"Kind of…"

"That was a clever move- we always work alone."

"Not anymore. You should be more careful."

"Well, it was a calculated risk. I thought it was worth it, to exchange information."

"…and the risk to Marta?"

"Oh, she'll be just fine."

"…in Western Australia?"

Cross tensed immediately at this, his mind working furiously. "You didn't know where I was, but figured I'd be here- today… because I hoped you would be… and traced my future movements backward, before I made them. But I left false trails all over the place."

"It was all Nicky's doing. She was my handler and work logistics. She came back with several possible hits, Australia was the most likely and then she found her adjunct classes at the community college."

"I told her that was foolish, but she'd rather die than wait tables or clean bed pans."

Bourne pulled the folder out and dropped it in front of him. He saw the TOP SECRET stamp and shoved it back across the table, "No way. I'm retired."

"That's what I said too- read it."

"…and I said no."

Kirill joined them and grabbed a chair from the other table, "He said no?"

"He won't read it."

"He will, or I'll cut his eyelids off and make him read it…"

All three men bolted up, "Whoa-" Bourne yelled. "Cross, ignore him- he's drunk. He's been drinking since he read it. Read the damn file, if the answer is still no then we're gone…"

"Your friend needs refresher courses in charm school."

"Granted. I jumped off a fourteen story building to get away from these people and I am in on this- we all are, like it or not. If you're in a plane that's crashing, would you rather be in the tail of the plane blissfully unaware, or in the pilot's seat? I'll consider it a personal favor if you just look at it."

Kirill took a long pull from a water bottle that was full of Stoli's. Cross looked at Bourne for several more of Kirill's pulls, weighing his seriousness. "Okay, fine." Bourne gave him the file again and he started flipping through the file. "So, how about some ice breakers. How did you two meet?"

"I shot his lover in the head by mistake, when they sent me to kill him…" Kirill pointed to the Cemetery.

Cross motioned for a pull of the vodka and continued as if nothing shocking had occurred, "Great! So, now that the ice is broken… Who is putting this together- you?"

Bourne was hoping this wouldn't come up until later, "Eric Byer."

Cross choked and sputtered, "You are joking right- you're a comedian? Are we playing 'two truths and a lie' now, because that had better be the lie?"

"No. This is bigger than all of us. Dr. Shearing is going to be in on this; we need her too much."

"Hell no."

"There won't be any stopping her, you know that."

"No need to, because I'm not going to tell her!"

Jason checked his watch, "Her Intro to Bio class started ten minutes ago and Nicky was in it, so we'll see how well that works out for you."

"That's dirty pool Bourne. Didn't figure you for a stooge and I am certainly not one- not anymore." He slid the file back across the table. "Thanks, but no thanks. As for that favor- you never saw me."

Bourne shrugged and collected the file, "Come on lets go." Kirill nodded and they headed down the hill together. "You mind giving me a minute?"

Kirill checked his watch, "We have four hours. Take all you want."

Jason was there half an hour before he rejoined Kirill and as they walked Cross caught up to them. "I reconsidered…"

"No thanks."

"Excuse me?"

"We can't have anyone that's not 'all in' on this."

"So, I'm all in."

Bourne round on him fast and their noses almost touched they were so close. Bourne stared him in the eye for nearly a minute and saw nothing but determination. "Okay."

As they walked down the hill Cross added, "Just a warning, I'm expecting Byer to try to kill Shearing and I when this is over."

"Oh, I expect him to try to kill all of us."

"See we are getting along already…"

* * *

Jacksonville, Florida

* * *

As the B2 stealth bomber buzzed the St John's River, Major Paige Tyler's co-pilot murmured, "Isn't this a bit low Major?"

Her eyes rolled upward and she locked them there in exasperation. She knew he hated her and thought she got promoted over him because she was a woman, or beautiful, or more likely that she slept with the right crusty old generals. He questioned everything she did so he could be 'on the record' if she screwed up. If she was flying higher he'd say she was 'off mission'. "We are fifty feet above minimum. Our line is fine. We should pass directly over our target at 12:17:00. Arm the warhead in 3, 2, 1…" They entered in their arming codes and hit enter together.

She saw the circular structure approaching and just before they passed over it she heard a chirp and hit the bomb release. She did it without hesitation. She was the first woman in the US that had ever had her 'finger on the button' of a nuclear device. She knew most military men doubted a woman had the capacity to kill millions of people. The truth is, no one knows who can or can't until the moment arrives.

She started to climb and bank the aircraft as her unwilling side-kick look out the window at the packed football stadium. "Bomb was on target. Do you think those people know we do these flyovers as bombing practice?"

"No," she said flatly. "They think it's a PR gimmick for recruiting; which is also a reason we do it."

Just then, control broad-casted new orders to them. [Flight M109 you are ordered to change course, we are transferring the coördinates to you now…]

They both looked at each other and he tentatively asked, "Have you ever had that happen before- in training?"

"No. Where is it?"

"Northern Illinois? Halfway between Illinois and Chicago…"

"There aren't any Air Force bases anywhere near there," she said as she retracted her visor. "Get them to manually code in…" she pointed to their code book.

[Roger that. The captain requests you code in…]

[Roger. Code is RED: X18FY39W-1F237PQWT]

He nodded and shrugged.

"Tell them you want another…"

"Sir?"

"A voice on the radio asked us to take a two _Billion_ dollar piece of equipment off mission to an unknown site. Code them in again, you ask them for one." He glared at her. "That's an order."

[Roger control, the Captain would like to reconfirm. BLUE FG73HBNFJ4+345GHT7-432]

[Response is: YELLOW 4565JBU3J4-THTE84542]

He nodded again and she returned an approving nod.

[Roger control. Diverting now…]

* * *

San Diego, California

* * *

Allen Goens watched in fascination as the burning remains of half of a corpse crawled toward him, reaching out for him as he pressed the X button and jumped teasingly from its grasp. "Ha ha, how do you like that _SHTUMPY!?_ " he mocked the Nazi Zombie in a poor German accent. "Come on Ash! I can't run this crawler around forever! Tie a knot in it already!"

His sixteen year old daughter jumped over the back of the Italian leather sofa and snatched up her pink Playstation 3 controller. "Look _Dad_ , I know I haven't had a chance to sit down with you and have 'the talk' yet, but boys and girls have different parts… There isn't anything for me to 'tie off'."

"Stick a cork in it?" he grinned broadly.

She squinted at him maliciously, "I forgot- I need tampons, make sure you pick some up tomorrow on the way home. You can even use the line with the cute casher you like; you know the one that's always there when you buy the Magnums you don't need nor require…" She slapped him on the knee.

He rolled his eyes, "Hey! Well, at least that explains everything…"

"Hey!" she shouted as she grabbed his nipple through his shirt and twisted hard.

"Oooouch! So, we are going to play _that_ game?" he laughed and lunged at her.

Her eyes got as big a golf balls as she clutched her chest and rolled off the sofa. "No! NO!" she held up a scolding finger. "Inappropriate! Stranger Danger, Stranger Danger!" she giggled.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "That would make you creepy-child-molester-guy."

"Huh?" he mocked as if in deep contemplation. "But, children can still be assaulted by the Tickle Monster. He tickled her without mercy until she was out of breath. "So, if you're a 'child' that would make me a what?"

She mumbled something through her giggles.

"A what?"

"An adult!" she croaked in a voice not unlike Linda Blaire.

"Wow," he said lying back on the carpet, "That sounded painful."

She sat up and leaned over him, tears streaming down her face. "God, I haven't laughed like that since…"

"Yeah…" he butted in, "We both needed that."

He looked at her upside down face as she hovered over him, "Speaking of which a certain young man has a birthday next week and it's a BIG one!"

"Oh God… Don't say it!" he clenched his hands over his ears as she hovered over him and held up a 4 and a 0. Suddenly her head jerked up and she hopped to her feet and trotted to the door.

He pulled his hands away from his ears in time to hear her ask, "Who the hell is here at 2am?" as she turned the knob.

"Ash! Don't just fling open the door!"

A large black man towered in the doorway, "Yes Ashley, there could be a menacing black man at the door." She recognized him immediately even before he held up his badge. "I assume I need no introduction?"

Her mouth fell open in shock which was quickly followed by a rapid tear from each eye. She spun in a rage and her father saw her face instantly go scarlet. "YOU PROMISED! YOU SWORE YOU'D STOP!" she shrieked in a shrill tone that only sixteen year-old girls could reach.

"Ashley!" the man at the door barked uselessly.

" _She was in that room dying and they kicked the door in and arrested you in the middle of the night! She wasted away and died- alone, because you were in prison- and I had to take care of her! I was at her FUNERAL alone!"_

As he lay speechless on the floor she grabbed a laptop from a desk by the door, raised it over her head and ran at him. She felt the computer ripped out of her hands from behind, "Ashley he isn't under arrest!"

She looked over her shoulder and eyed him suspiciously, "He isn't?"

"No, he hasn't done anything- well- I'm sure he's doing something, but that's not why I'm here. You _will_ be arrested though if you hit him. You can't just hit people in front of the police- you are supposed to wait for us to drive off first." She forced a smile as she wiped her face.

"What's this about Agent Donaldson?" he inquired as he crawled to his feet. "What does the NSA need me at 2 am for?"

"We need you to come with us sir, now. There is a matter of national security and we need your… expertise."

"God," she laughed genuinely. "You must be desperate…" she joked as her father glared at her.

"Right? You'll never know how hard it was to say that. Would you mind giving us a minute Ashley?"

She glared at him before storming off. "I really appreciate that agent Donaldson; she's been through enough…" he said as he held his hands out to be cuffed.

"No, I am seriously here to ask you for help…"

"What? Me- help the _federal government_?! No way. You know how much I _love the government._ "

Agent Donaldson opened the door and pointed down the apartments hallway, Allen leaned out saw a SWAT team lining the hall. "You can either come work for the NSA or be questioned by the FBI. They want to talk to you about how exactly all of their desktops changed to naked pictures of Bea Arthur and their screen savers to the intro to the Golden Girls…"

"Wow, they look pissed…"

"Yeah, it seems they are unable to switch them back…"

"Huh? That's odd…"

"Yeah. You might be gone a few days. You better get her to pack a bag too. You have ten minutes to come with me or you're going with them…"

* * *

-500ft below sea level, the Indian Ocean

* * *

The HMAS Sterling, one of six Collins class submarines in use by the Australian military, had been cutting fluidly through the ocean depths all day until it suddenly lurched.

The Japanese woman sitting at the foremost station of the bridge looked at her coffee and saw the fluid shifting to aft, they we're ascending. Just then something hit the back of her head.

She spun in her seat and pulled off her Bose noise canceling headphones, "Aye Captain?"

"Tanaka, grab your gear. I have orders to put your off my vessel."

"Sir?"

"You have ten minutes, move!"

"Captain! What? I'm being tossed off? We're in the middle of the ocean."

"No, you have a ride waiting. You have your orders."

"But, sir…"

"Damn it Reina, I don't have anymore answers than you do. You have nine minutes…"

She grabbed her things from her station and made her way through the ship to pack her meager possessions. No-one was permitted many personal items on a sub and as the only woman on board she made sure she was well under the limit to avoid giving her male counterparts anymore ammunition than they already had.

Ascending the conning tower she saw that the top hatch was open and the Captain was already there. She thought it was overcast for a moment then she saw that they were in the shadow of a massive ship.

"What the blazes? Is that a carrier?"

"It would seem so- American. It was an honor serving with you." They exchanged salutes. As he descended the ladder she suddenly realized that she had tapped into US Navy's communications and was decrypting their latest encoding system for the last six months.

"Hey Skipper," she called, "They don't shoot spies in America anymore do they?"

As he closed the hatch he mused, "You know I think they do…" and he shut the lid.

She saw the launch coming to collect her and whispered, "Well, shit… Maybe the blokes who shoot me will at least be cute…"

* * *

Westchester, New York

* * *

Paz Carrasco sat in the cold November rain and shivered despite all of his military and Treadstone conditioning. He had been sitting on the cold stone bench in the freezing November rain for over half an hour, stalling. He reached up and futilely wiped the torrent of rain from his stubbled face.

{I'm sorry, I know I should have done this a long time ago but you know how I put things off… I always put things off…} he said in Spanish with a thick Chilean accent.

{I miss you a lot. I'm glad I'm finally ready, I'm just sorry it took so long.) He laughed, {I haven't spoken this much to anyone in a month.}

He felt his belt vibrate and stared at the sky in anger, he was on vacation. "What now." His handler promised him he had ten days… he was only two days into it. He reached over with his left hand and flipped open his phone and repressed a display of anger. It was a mission as he knew it was.

He was going to throw the phone in the mud until he saw the code wasn't a kill order. They always sent what looked like a phone number, but each number actually had a meaning. The last two were always 00 which was a kill order. They were always kill orders now. The past year they had run him into the ground. But this was a 17?

He thought about the code list three times even though he remembered it perfectly, this couldn't be right. Search and apprehend? It had the highest possible priority though, something else he had never seen. The priority his handler used was always seven, once he had used an eight and Paz thought it was a typo. But, never a ten. There was a mission briefing too?! The bizarreness of it gave him pause.

Numbly, but not from the rain, he closed the phone a tucked it in his pocket. Raising his right hand he looked at the pistol in it as he uncocked it. He looked at the rain pouring across the gun-metal blue finish and realized it had an oddly beautiful look to it. He murmured regretfully, "Why didn't you _take the shot_?!"

He exhaled and reluctantly tucked it into his waist band. He stood up and stumbled forward several feet before collapsing to knees in the mud. {I'm sorry, but I have to put this off for a little longer. I… …love you. I'm sorry I never told you.} He traced the name on the tombstone before clutching it and using it to rise to his feet. {You always were my rock. You were the strong one, not me. I'll be back soon.} He trudged forward through the mud and to the rental car he had never expected to use again.


	6. Shearing Sheep

Perth, Australia

 

Marta Shearing had only taught three Introduction to Biology classes at the local community college and was still expecting the entire class to pull out guns and start shooting at her. She had contacted Aaron Cross about the idea of her teaching a few college classes and he was adamantly opposed to the idea, but she just couldn’t sit on her hands anymore.

She hadn’t realized how utterly depressed she was until she was cleaning her gun one day and took a little too long doing it; looking at the weapon longingly. Cross had set her up in Australia and then left for parts unknown or walk-about as her new countrymen would call it. Much of the year she had spent with little to no companionship and it was wearing on her.

She had worked a variety of odd jobs and had tried a few roommates and even had a boyfriend in the past year. But she found it was difficult to trust anyone with the CIA out to kill her, not to mention the daily ‘How not to get yourself killed’ emails Aaron sent her.

She knew that people on the run eventually broke down and reentered society. At the beginning of it all she laughed at the idea that someone could so monumentally naive as to stop running and hiding. Now she understood. No one could live like this- day to day- place to place, for long. That wasn’t a life, now she knew that she’d rather be dead.

So, Aaron had tried to set up with the best fake life that he could. He had always tried to send money when he could, although it was never much. He had a nest egg to start with, but she could only imagine how much money he was burning through; he was constantly in motion. She tried to not feel guilty about taking his time and money, but she had given him his life’s dream- freedom from the chemicals that had kept him enslaved to the defense department.

From time to time he would stop in, sometimes just staying for coffee and to sweep for bugs, other times he would stay for a few days. This time he was here for a glorious three weeks, helping her set up everything and perfect her cover story. He devised different exit strategies if things went south and drilled her ad nauseum.

When they were first on the run, she had this girlish notion that they would romantically travel the world together in luxury. In reality she found very little of either. He never said for whom the June Monroe ID’s were made, but it was clear that he had made them for someone that he cared dearly for. Whether she was still around- in hiding or otherwise, she never knew. At first she assumed she was a deceased lover- a romantic notion, but foolish. It could have just as easily have been a sister or daughter- or wife even.

He had shown up three weeks ago and said he was stopping through on the way to contact someone. That seemed normal enough until he left all of his extra money and material possessions there with her. He had never left as much as a fingerprint before that. This worried her tremendously; the fact that he clearly thought there might be the chance that he wouldn’t comeback. She had always assumed that he would out live her as was terrified at the thought of a world without Aaron Cross in it.

When she looked up and out at her assembled students, which should have been ninety-two if they all bothered to show up, she didn’t immediately notice the girl in the front row. Call it amateurish if you like, but she was focused on people in the back and on the edges, thinking an impostor would be laying low.

When her eyes fell on her the second time, it was the fact that there was both intellect and fascination in her eyes that gave the girl away. She was studying her every motion and hanging on every word. There was a fraction of a second of terror and then she blurted, “Excuse me, but are you enrolled in this class?” as she grabbed her roll sheet.

“I just signed up this morning,” she said coolly, but the fascination remained. Marta suddenly felt like a bug in a glass jar with giant eyes outside peering in at her.

“No you didn’t; the class has been full for weeks…” she snapped.

“Professor Mulligan granted an exception…”

“Fascinating, especially as his mother died two days ago and he’s in Sydney seeing to her affairs. Please show me your student ID!” she demanded, setting her jaw. She tried to act every bit the English disciplinarian, but her terror was building. She knew her story was utter rubbish, but the girls hand had been called. Now she waited to see her cards.

“Sure,” she grabbed her backpack and made her way over as the other students voices started to rise as they spoke amongst themselves. When she got to the counter she produced her wallet and handed it to her; she opened it and saw the CIA badge and laminated ID for Nicolette Parsons. The girl said in an unnecessarily low voice, “Jason Bourne sent me to find you. We need your expertise on two different matters. Do you know who he is?”

Marta suddenly realized what Aaron was doing; he had gone to meet Bourne. She nodded blankly- just as one of the heavy double doors at the top of the back row opened. The room was similar to a stadium, so the man was a good distance from them still. “That isn’t a student…” Marta muttered unnecessarily.

He was wearing an old olive green jacket and blue jeans, but it was his face that told the real story. Even from a hundred feet away Nicky felt his eyes lock on hers and she knew he was a killer. She could tell his eyes were blue even from that distance and it looked like he hadn’t showered or shaved in days and hadn’t slept in a decade. He was way past the ragged edge, but what gave Nicky the most pause was that she had no idea who he was: either personally or through his file.

He started to bound down the steps as Nicky spun to grab Marta’s arm, but she was already gone. Marta grabbed a backpack and a section of iron plumbing pipe that she had hidden behind the counter. She was half way to the door as Nicky reached her and Marta yanked a fire alarm. They fell through the outward swinging fire door in unison and Marta stopped and leaned against the door, closing it.

Nicky saw her lift the odd section of metal pipes and blurted, “Come on, what the hell…?”

Marta dropped the large section of pipe over the door handles, the pipe made a large C shape that fit perfectly over the handles and Nicky understood. She had just barred the door and now if he did follow them he wouldn’t be able to get through. Then he would be fighting through a hundred students to go back the other way.

“Very clever, come on…” Nicky grabbed her arm in a vice like grip and held her pistol close to her side with the other. She started to make a right turn, “This way, it’s faster…”

“Not with hundreds of students packing the halls…” she pulled Nicky left.

“My car is the other way,” Nicky protested.

“Mine isn’t. Come on, run…” Nicky relented and they sprinted down the interior corridor that ran behind the classes and Nicky could see the commotion down the side hallways as they were jammed with students.

“Good plan,” Nicky said reluctantly. “But don’t you ever give up on your cover that fast again. Not ever. You stick with it until your dying breath. I’m your sister Claire visiting from London- same last name. I got here yesterday.”

“Nice to meet you Claire. It’ll be nice to have a sister, always wanted someone to trade shoes with…”

“Mine aren’t any more comfortable than yours, trust me. I’m not sure if that guy is after me or you…” They exited the building and made for Marta’s Subaru. “I’m driving,” Nicky barked.

“The hell you are- I know the roads. Besides, I can’t shoot very well…”

Nicky ran to the passenger door as she still argued the point, “Who said there’s going to be any…” the sentence was cut off as Nicky’s window shattered from a bullet.

Marta jumped in and had the car moving in less time than it took Nicky to get in and she shot her a glare. “I delivered pizzas for almost a year; it helps to learn the roads. It’s uncanny how fast I can get in and get her going now- don’t you think?”

“Just drive…” Nicky barked. “You have a gun in here?”

“In the glove box, it’s a Glock with four clips.”

Nicky holstered her gun and got the one out of the console. She whipped her head around and saw the black BMW in pursuit, “Crap. That can’t be the same guy; but they always work alone…”

“Maybe this one's mine and the other yours- this one was at my car?”

“No. The CIA shouldn’t be after us, unless it’s a splinter group. This is all wrong… We are missing something here.” Nicky hit the button for the sunroof to retract and made to turn in the seat as the wheels broke loose and Marta ‘drifted’ the car around a steep curve on the winding road that led off the campus, “Jesus…”

“I know… I’ve wanted to do that ever since I spotted that corner. I’d bet his car is slower off the line and on a long track, but faster on a medium length course. We need short streets or highways… got a preference?” Marta looked at Nicky with a maniacal mirth in her eyes; Nicky had expected fear from her or even horror, but not elation. She truly was tired of running and jubilant at seeing her pursuer.

“You’re the one that knows the roads,” Nicky bellowed as she stood on the seat backwards and slowly started taking shots at the other car as her hair slapped her in the face.

“City it is…” Marta blew past the huge sign for the college campus and drifted the car into a right hand turn without waiting for the light. There were only two cars remotely near hers, but both swerved trying to get out of her way as the BMW tore around the corner after them.

They zigged and zagged through the early evening traffic, Nicky ducked back into the car to change clips. “Try to tap my leg with your elbow if you’re going to be going straight for a few seconds, I’ll time my shots.” Marta nodded as Nicky took the other clips, loaded one and stuffed the other two in her pocket.

“Agent Parsons, you are aware that law enforcement takes a very dim view of high speed shoot-outs that they aren’t privy to…”

“We won’t be alive long enough to care- just drive. Keep us near the freeway. This guy is pissing me off! Did you see his face- what nationality is that?” Nicky rose up and fired again.

“You mean ethnicity. I didn’t see this one…”

“He looks like the guy from Tears for Fears…”

“That bloke that killed himself?”

She fired another volley before ducking in the car again, “Huh? No, I think you are thinking of INXS. He’s like black and- something? He looks totally unique. He looks like that guy.”

“Oh, the British chap? That’s Fine Young Cannibals… Isn’t he part Asian?”

“Don’t know. What do you call that?”

“Human?” she snapped scathingly.

“Aren’t you a geneticist? Isn’t that your purview?”

“I do gene re-sequencing. I don’t sit around dreaming up politically correct titles for racially crossbred humans.”

“WAIT! You do WHAT?” Nicky screamed in her ear as she grabbed the ‘Oh Shit’ handle to keep from flying out her spider-webbed window as Marta took a tight corner.

“I do gene re-sequencing. I’m a scientist that works with DNA.”

“I know what it means- I’m a Doctor too! You did this for the program?”

“Well technically I…”

“Did you do it for the program?!?”

“Yes! I was one of the scientists working with the genetically improved candidates.”

“Oh, you and I are SO having a chat later about what you did to screw up my guys! Okay, break for the highway.”

“Be there in two minutes…”

“This idiot falls back whenever I rise up to fire, he is waiting for us to run out of bullets, or for you to screw up, before he makes his move.” Nicky rose up and fired twice more. “Afro-Asian? Afrasian? Blasian? I think we’ll go with blasian… He might not be African.”

“I feel really uncomfortable with this conversation Agent Parsons. Perhaps we should invite an anthropologist over for a consult.”

“Doctor…”

“Yes?”

“Dr. Parsons…”

“Oh by your facetious tone, I thought you were kidding.”

Nicky fired again but between both cars swerving and trying to watch the backdrop for civilians very few of her bullets hit the car at all.

“So you’re one of those PC people?” Marta squirmed in her seat uncomfortably. “Oh God... really?” Nicky’s eyes narrowed, “You’re a vegan aren’t you?” she asked inquisitorially.

She huffed, “Well not with this lifestyle. Even before this I wasn’t very strict about it. My body just never got over the craving for meat.”

“I know what you mean… Every once and awhile you just have to have it.” Nicky grinned salaciously before rising up and firing another volley. “Damn it…” she swore, ducking back in the car to change clips. “Jason makes this so damn easy… I’m just wasting ammo.”

“Should we save some?”

“For what- our funerals? We’re not going to fire a whole clip at this guy standing still. I don’t see a way clear of this…”

She poked out of the sunroof and this time fired a volley of shots, eight in total, each was a second apart. She saw one hit the front driver's side tire and started to cheer but nothing really happened. “God damn it- BMW run flat…” she began as Marta banked around a corner bringing his driver side window into view. She only saw his face for a second before she saw the muzzle flash.

In that brief moment, time seemed to slow to a crawl as Nicky felt the force of a dozen sledge hammers hit her hands causing the gun to spiral over her right shoulder and towards the hood of the car. Out of nothing but foolish instinct she dove after it; crawling over Marta in the process just as the gun slammed down on the windshield and Nicky fell over the top half of the windscreen.

Marta saw Nicky’s destroyed left hand floundering on the windshield as she tried to hold on, her right leg was extended along the inside roof of the car and her left was in between Marta’s legs. She saw that she was about to pass a semi floored it, with the agent hot on her tail, drafting her. Marta grabbed Nicky’s belt and pulled her into the car; she fell backward and hit her head hard on the door and stopped moving.

Seeing an escape, Marta stood on the brakes just as the BMW was going to squeeze between her and the semi and then whipped the wheel, crossed in front of the semi, and shot down the embankment of an off ramp she had just missed.

Marta missed the semis front bumper by inches, so the chase car had no room to follow and had to slam on brakes, whip around, and go backwards down the interstate to get back to the ramp.

She silently thanked the weather for being in a dry spell as she shot down the dusty ramp, past the shoulder, and got the car back on the blacktop. She quickly went under the overpass, ran a light and zigged down a side street. She knew that he couldn’t have seen where she went and tried to get as much distance as possible.

“Nicky! Time to wake up…” Marta her shook leg, still with no response.

She slowed down and forced herself to top off her tank- she always kept it full. She did it so she could buy a car wash ticket from the pump. She drove into it and used the time to examine Nicky. Besides Nicky’s blood on the windshield, the car was filthy and the asset would be looking for a car that had been through hell, not a nice clean one. She hit the button for the sunroof and hoped the spider-webbed glass of the passenger window would hold up.

Nicky’s head was on the floor board and her feet in the seat. She left her that way so her feet would be elevated, but tried to reposition her slightly. Checking her pulse, she found it to be strong but she had blood all over herself. Her left hand looked like a tangled mess to the point where Marta’s stomach lurched when she looked at it even though she was a medical doctor. She tied a loose tourniquet on it and then heard a car horn from behind her.

She waved a hand and then pulled out of the car wash and drove five miles to a camping area that was one of the places Aaron had told her to run to if she had to. She rented a cabin with cash, got a bucket of ice, and pulled as close as she could to the back door before dragging Nicky inside.

She pulled the mattresses off of the bed and lay her on it and quickly put her hands on ice as she got their things from the car and then moved furniture in front of the doors. She tried to set Nicky’s hands the best she could. The bones in the ringer finger were showing through the skin, a lot of flesh was missing and it looked like it was only half there. The birdie finger was broken, dislocated at the knuckle, and missing skin but looked far better. The bones in her hand were clearly misaligned to the point of looking alien. Her hands were entirely covered in cuts and shrapnel wounds. Her right hand had some damage including missing the tip of her pinky finger, but nothing like the left.

“Jesus… did the gun blow up?” she muttered.

Fifteen minutes later, Marta heard a humming sound, it took her a second to realize what it was, and then she frantically started searching Nicky’s pockets and found the ringing phone. “Hello?” she offered tentatively.

There was a brief pause before a suspicious male voice asked, “Who is this?”

She gulped reflexively, “Did you send her after me?”

There was a long pause this time. “Is she dead,” the man asked in a cold detached tone. A year ago she would’ve thought that the man on the other end cared nothing for the girl at all, now she knew quite differently. That was the same voice Aaron used whenever June Monroe came up. He loved her, or at least cared for her a great deal.

“No. Is this JB?”

“Yes, is this Dr. MS?”

“Yes. We’re safe. She’s unconscious. Her hands are mangled. Two different men were after us. She didn’t recognize either one. I lost them. If Aaron is there, I’m at site 14. If I get her to a hospital they might be able to save some of her fingers; if not I need to take at least one off, possibly two. She hit her head and hasn’t woken up. What do I do?”

“Can it wait until Sydney?”

“No. I have them on ice, but she’ll need treatment now and still require some there- to sort out the bones in her hand, or she might lose the whole thing.” There was a very long pause and she continued, “I’m not being melodramatic. You ever see an x-ray of someone who held a firecracker in their hand? It’s that bad. I can’t tell what’s what in there. Without proper treatment it could turn gangrenous and rot off.”

“Wait there. Don’t do anything.” The line went dead.

Five agonizing minutes later it rang again and before she could say hello he was speaking, “There is a rugby field at the campground, drive to the middle and leave your headlights on. When you hear a helicopter, flash the headlights until they land.”

“How long do I have?”

“I don’t know. Go now. Tell them you're her Doctor. Don’t leave her side- no matter what. Tell them that she would want to sacrifice the bad rather than risk losing the good. She did that everyday- it was her job. When she wakes up tell her I gave her consent. Anyone asks you anything: It’s classified. You understand.”

“Ball field, lights, helicopter, save what can be saved without gambling on the rest, blame you, keep my mouth shut, got it.” There was a click as the line went dead.

She did as he instructed and a civilian medical helicopter landed and flew them to a hospital on a military base. She was fast tracked through the x-ray and CAT scan departments, then taken back to the chopper and flown to an airfield and put immediately on a plane. They were flown in a medical aircraft to Sydney. Nicky woke up shortly after getting on the plane and had to be sedated.

They operated in flight, which is an oddity. Even though there is a title of in-flight surgeon, they usually just monitor the patients. There was a civilian team of doctors that did the surgeries. She lost both middle fingers on her left hand; they could’ve saved one of them but it wouldn’t have had any moving joints. The surgeon said usually people opt to keep it and then regret it for the rest of their lives as it just got in the way. Remembering what Bourne said she told him to take it off. The end of her right pinkie was missing already and her two middle fingers were dislocated but all three were salvageable.

She had a litany of pins put in the left hand itself, some actually showed through the skin. They couldn’t cast it immediately due to swelling, but tried to keep it iced, and they were wrapped so heavily in bandages that it looked comical.

They took military transports all the way to the US. Nicky was in surgery the first flight to Sydney and drug addled from there until Tokyo. There they were joined by another woman, Reina Tanaka whom Marta didn’t converse with until they figured out that they were probably bound for the same destination. Even then they both kept it to small talk.

They all ended up in military uniforms, lacking other options. Nicky was the only one with spare clothes, but the flight suit they gave her was easier to get in and out of than her skinny jeans.

They boarded a Delta flight from Honolulu to Los Angles. They were upgraded to first class and many people bought Nicky drinks and things on the flight thinking she was wounded Navy pilot. Marta scolded them about the upgrades until Nicky pointed out that she had been wounded serving the US Military, and Reina really was enlisted in an allied military. Marta folded not wanting to ride alone, but cited Bourne's ‘don’t leave her side’ edict.

Their flight from LAX was a small chartered jet. The three women were early and all sat separate not knowing the flight was full. People avoided the seat next to Nicky, seeing that she was injured until the last two people got on.

Nicky had figured everyone on the flight was with Byer until they boarded. From the way they acted she thought they were father and daughter, although they looked nothing alike. He was tall, rustic, with wave brown hair; he vaguely reminded her of a young Harrison Ford and from his obnoxious grin she figured on getting very little sleep on his account. The girl had insanely pale skin especially for a high school girl, piercing blue eyes, and was a natural red head. He saw her and Reina with open seats and made a beeline for Reina immediately; who rolled her eyes. Nicky’s bed-head was no match for long luxurious Asian hair, full lips, and divinely placed beauty mark; Nicky breathed a sigh of relief.

“…they all do that,” the girl said as she stowed everything she had in the overhead bin.

“I’m sorry?”

She laughed, “The sigh of relief… I know it well. He hits you like cheap cologne. I swear- he should sell used cars.”

Nicky laughed genuinely and started to get up to let her in. “I’m sorry that was rude…”

“No, don’t get up. These things usually have a bar somewhere. Would you like something?”

“No, thank you.”

“It’s not an imposition; you would be doing me a favor.”

Nicky chuckled again, “I’ll bite. How that?”

“Because I’m going to have a Coke and exactly thirty minutes later I’ll need to get up to pee. If your bladder is as small as mine I won’t have to make you stand up. Otherwise I’ll be trying to hold it the whole flight.”

Nicky laughed and relented, “Something without caffeine, thank you.”

She returned a few minutes later with Nicky’s drink and a steaming coffee pot with water and something else in it. “Here take a sip and lay back.” She took a wash cloth out of the hot water and rang it out.

“Oh, no sweetie. Heat is bad for injuries…”

The girl smiled gently, “It’s for your face, not your hands.” Nicky started to protest, “Trust me. I can tell you’ve been traveling, or at the hospital, a long time. You have that ‘funky traveled’ feeling on your face, but you can’t wash it, right? It also was the only thing that helped my mom to sleep on the way back from the Mayo. Trust me; you’ll be asleep before we’re at cruising altitude.”

Nicky nodded and leaned her seat back into Marta’s space, “Shouldn’t you get in your seat first?”

“No. My dad is about to sarcastically ask me for something with liquor in it. I’ll then get him warm milk with two ground up Benadryl to put him to sleep and hand him two Dramamine to keep him from being sick when he wakes up.”

Nicky laughed as she put the hot towel on her, “So, you always slip him a Mickey?”

“Yeah! I’m sure he knows at this point, but he sleeps well. He’ll be out before we hit the Rockies…”

“Oh stewardess!” he called as if on cue.

She actually made rounds for everyone and somehow acquired everything everyone asked for. People started catching on and tried to stymie her. Someone asked about the in flight movie and she offered three choices and gave them her iPad with headphones.

Reina threw ‘the nod’ to Nicky who had finally removed the towel.

“…and anything for you ma’am?”

“I’d love a Fresca…” Reina said with a deadpan expression.

She gave her best McKayla face before inspiration struck and she spun around and dug through the overhead bin and into her makeup bag, grabbed a few things, and trotted to the back of the plane where the bar was.

“That was cruel!” Marta scolded.

“What did she grab? Did you see what she got?” Reina spun around. “She is grinding something. What is she doing?”

Nicky laughed weakly as her latest pain killers kicked in, “I don’t know but you’d better at least try it.”

“…and tip her for heaven's sake!”

She returned with a clear bubbling fluid that had an orange slice in it. “There’s not ambergris in this right? I’m allergic to it.”

“No you aren’t, your face isn’t swollen- well your lips might be…” she said teasingly.

Her eyes narrowed, “Hey, I haven’t tipped you yet.” Reina cautiously sipped the concoction, smacked her lips, and then sipped it again. “Well it’s not a Fresca, but it’s damn good…”

“Yeah?” Nicky raised a heavy eyebrow.

“Yeah… Try it.”

Nicky reached for it out of habit although her hands were wrapped so heavily that she couldn’t have held anything anyway. Ashley took it and held it near her face. Nicky sipped it and nodded, “so what’s in it?”

“Diet Sprite, an orange wedge, and a red, orange, and yellow Spree ground up in it.”

“Spree?”

She held up a roll of candy, which Reina examined. “Ha! Gotcha! This has sugar, Fresca is a diet drink.”

She shrugged and tried to take the drink back, but Reina huffed in defeat and held up a twenty. “I shouldn’t ask, but what did you grind it with?”

“A mortar and pestle. They only gave me ten minutes to pack and it was still in my travel bag.”

Reina’s brow furrowed, “Wh-” Nicky shook her head rapidly, “-ell played, don’t eat all of those; I might want a refill…”

“You got me too; Reina could you spot me twenty…” Nicky said slowly getting up to go to the lavatory.

Nicky went to shut the door and saw that the girl had discretely followed her, pretending to count her tips. “I’m an expert helper. If you need me just tap the door twice…” she whispered and Nicky nodded.

When she was finished they walked back together and sat down, “Oh, I’m Ashley by the way. Mostly people call me Ash.”

“Nicky… This is Marta and the trouble maker is Reina.”

“Oh, she was no trouble.”

Reina laughed, “I like her. You said you were given ten minutes to pack? Me too, I don’t even know why I’m here or where we are going.”

“Me neither. Agent Donaldson knocked on our door at two in the morning and took us to the airport.”

“I have no idea either,” Marta leaned forward to whisper, and subtlety kneed Nicky in the back.

“Agent Donaldson? A fed?”

“Not FBI…”

“He’s with the No Such Agency,” Nicky said curtly.

“NSA?” Reina squirmed in her seat. “Great, I am going to be shot.”

“No you aren’t,” Nicky said rolling her eyes.

Marta leaned forward, “Why? Who are you?”

“I’m a code breaker and writer, I work with ciphers… You?”

“I’m a geneticist; I work with altering the human genome.”

Ashley spoke up, “My dad is a hacker; he hacked thousands of cell phones and got arrested for posting stolen photos of famous people online…”

Reina sat up straight, “He’s Allen Goens?”

“Yeah, ‘Mr. Skin’ awarded him their ‘Manitarian of the Decade’ award for all the private pictures of starlets he hacked from their phones. I’m such a proud daughter…” she grinned sarcastically.

Reina stared at Nicky, “Uh, I’m a behavioral psychiatrist that works with field agents. Post-traumatic stress, survivor guilt, …amputees, behavioral conditioning, deprogramming and reprogramming… those kinds of things.” Marta kicked her chair again. “Stop kicking me. Look- everyone will be briefed tomorrow. I can’t do it now, I can’t even think straight with all the pain killers.”

“Wait, so you know what’s going on? You have to tell us!”

“I will, tomorrow.”

“But…”

Ashley interrupted her, “Enough. She won’t spill. Here, you’re going to need these.” She put her noise canceling headphones over Nicky’s ears.

“Thanks…” Nicky mumbled and was asleep within minutes.

 

 


	7. Some Assembly Required

 

Chapter 7: Some Assembly Required

The Next Morning, 6AM

Gary, IL

 

Nicky didn’t take any pain killers that night and had some insane dreams, culminating in a trip to Wonderland only reimagined by Salvidor Dali. At the end she was captured by the Queen of Hearts who ordered her hands to be cut off. She woke up after the huge ax came down on them as she watched, the two bloody stumps grew talking caterpillars that replaced her hands and quickly started a lively debate over the cause of the American Civil War.    

Knowing sleep was now a moot point, being in agony, she got up and struggled to get dressed. Byer had ordered a wardrobe for her and while it was nice and probably fit well, she couldn’t work any of the zippers. She also couldn’t apply make-up, do her hair, and found it difficult to even brush her teeth. She gave up and resigned herself to looking like a refugee for what was probably going to be the most important presentation of her life. She pulled on sweatpants, a hoodie, and hit the door.

Sitting across from her room was the teenager from the plane. She looked like she was dressed for court; she was in a sky blue suit that matched her eyes and was immaculate. She had been playing a handheld video game. “Good morning,” she smiled gently.

“Oh, hi Ashley. I was just going for breakfast.”

She grinned, “Liar. Do you need clothes; we are about the same size?”

“No. They sent me clothes; they all have little zippers…” Nicky noticed the huge armchair she was sitting in, “Where did you get that?”

“The lobby. I had the bellboy bring it up. What use are eyes like mine if they can’t inspire a little free manual labor? Come on, let’s pimp your ride…” Ashley had her ready in short order, she helped her with her hair and make-up as well, and they grabbed a quick bite from the lobby.

“You look really nice Ash…”

“Thanks, I figure that if I’m going to be representing you, I’d better look the part.”

Nicky laughed, “I didn’t realize I need an attorney.”

“No, but you need an assistant, in the short term anyway. Here take this. It’s a thousand milligram ibuprofen. I’m guessing you didn’t take painkillers, so your mind would be sharp.”

“Umm… thanks.”

Ashley drove them to the meeting site, an AMC movie theater. “Seriously?”

“Yes. It is sound proof, sturdy, out of the way, and not a government building. They rent them for conferences all the time. We rented it for a month. No-one will think to look for us here.”

“How many people will there be?”

“God, I don’t know? A few dozen…”

“Someone got coffee right?”

“Err… I really don’t know.” She felt incompetent as normally this would’ve been something she considered.

“Okay, well there is a Panera over there. If we have a minute, let me run in a get a couple of gallons?”

“Okay, yeah. We are way early.”

When they pulled up to the rear of the theater, to one of the screens emergency exits, Byer was standing at the door testing the magnetic lock they had added to the rear emergency door.

Ash got out and ran around the car and opened Nicky’s door. “Now just sit here until you’re ready. I’ll take the coffee in.” She grabbed two gallons and started to brush by Agent Byer, “Good morning.”

“Wait, who are you?!”

“Oh, I’m Ashley- I prefer Ash.”

“Let’s try this again. Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Dr. Parson’s personal assistant.” She tossed her hair in his direction, brushed past him, and took the coffee inside. Nicky couldn’t help but laugh at Byer’s face.

“I’m glad you think this is funny Parson’s,” he barked as he stormed to her side of the car.

“Calm down Mr. Byer. She’s Allen Goens daughter.”

“Calm down? This isn’t Daddy Daycare.” He saw her hands as she climbed out of the car; they were wrapped and padded so heavily that they looked like boxing gloves. “What the hell! Bourne said you hurt your hands!”

“I did.”

“No, it looks like you’re maimed. How bad is it?” Nicky was surprised that he genuinely looked concerned. 

“I lost the end of the right pinkie and broke it and the right ring finger. The left middle two fingers are gone and there was damage to the bones in the hand. The right should be a lot better in a day or two; the left is going to take some time.”

“Jesus.” He motioned to the bandages, “If you put blades on the ends of those you’ll be ready for Thunder-Dome.”

“Two men enter- one man leave…” Ash piped in as she got the second round of coffee and went inside.

“Hey, I got in a shoot-out with an asset and only lost two and a half fingers. I’ll take that trade.”

“Well, I’m glad to have you back. That still doesn’t explain her…”

“You said that I was to ensure that anything these people need, they get. I need an assistant.”

“I can get you an assistant.”

“Good. I want her.”

He seized her by the upper arm in a Bourne like fashion and walked her around the corner of the building. “Let me see if this registers to you. This- operation, can’t get out. Not ever. If she starts running her mouth- if anyone does, they will have to be put down. I don’t like killing teenage girls; my daughter should be her age. Are you going to put two bullets in her head when she calls her boyfriend or goes to the Times?”

Nicky swallowed hard. “Look, it won’t go down like that. I looked at her phone when she went to get the coffee. She has ten contacts: her father, her mother- who is dead, a lawyer, and seven restaurants. She doesn’t have anyone to tell. Her father is the problem and you know it. She’s the parent in that relationship and might be able to shut him up. If she wasn’t here he would call her and tell her first thing- then you would have to kill them both anyway.”

“Perhaps I need to reiterate: Are you going to put two bullets in her head if she talks?”

“I agree I will kill her if she talks.”

Byer stared her in the eye for a long moment “Do a security check on her and get her in the system anyway. Do it by the book.”

“I’ll get her started on it first thing…”

“Cute. Get to work.”

Several people were already on the inside, but Nicky didn’t know any of them. Ashley had procured a folding table and had set it up and was placing everything out on it. Almost everyone was early and when Bourne arrived, Nicky was already busy doing a hundred things and he quietly sat off to the side, alone.

The lights in the theater were blazing and besides the coffee table there was a bank of computer stations at the front, three of the six stations were significantly more complex than the others mainly due to their six screen displays.

At 7:45 two people Bourne pegged as Detectives brought in a woman who clearly wasn’t an asset, she didn’t meet the weight requirement. She couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds. They had Byer sign for her and Nicky tried to direct her to Bourne until a girl whom appeared to Nicky’s protégé brought her over.

“Mr. Bourne, Dr. Parsons asked that you watch her; she’s- elusive.” She didn’t wait for a response, but went back to the computer Nicky had her working at.

“…slippery. She said I was slippery,” she corrected but the girl was already gone.

Bourne motioned her to sit. “You don’t look like a cop.”

“I’m not. How long since you lived on Maui?”

She did a double take, “I get that you know that I’m Hawaiian, but my island?” She had a jacket folded in front- in her hands and he knew that it was covering handcuffs.

“People from the big island are more elusive and you don’t take me as a small island type of girl. You need me to take those off?”

“No, I’m rather attached to them.” She sat next to him quietly and thankfully didn’t ask any questions.

Bourne was surprised by the conglomeration of people and saw members from every branch of the military, including a female Air Force major in dress uniform and what he thought was the Australian navy. Several appeared to be career criminals and there was even a man in a straight jacket in the back row.

 The last person to be let in was a tall man of Arabic descent with three minutes until eight. As he passed Bourne he froze and did a double take, “Webb?!? I heard you were dead!”

Byer started speaking before Jason could respond, the man walked behind Bourne and sat a row behind him. “I appreciate your presence here today, especially if it wasn’t entirely voluntary. Now I know some of us have tried to kill each other in the past,” Ashley started to laugh until Nicky scolded her and she realized Byer wasn’t kidding, “…but hopefully we can put that behind us.”

“Now I can’t emphasize enough the level of classification of this project and it is deemed to be beyond classified. No-one outside of this room is to be told anything about this- ever. What is revealed here today shouldn’t be discussed outside of these walls. This is under the penalty of death, including whomever you tell. To be clear, if you call your spouse and tell them to get the hell out of a city: we will kill you, them, and anyone they tell. Please raise your hand if this is absolutely clear.” He waited until everyone’s hand was raised, until he saw everyone was looking behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut, “Mr. Goens, let me also emphasize that you and your daughter are a package deal. I swear your hand had better be up.”

He turned and everyone’s hand was up. He looked at Ashley, “You are the only one able to leave right now, no questions asked. You want to go back to the hotel and do crosswords for a few weeks no one here will fault you for it.”

She nervously shook her head, “No, sir. I’d rather stay.”

He looked at her a long minute, “Okay. Pass these out to everyone. You can read along with Nicky. These are NOT to leave the room. Make sure you collect them all later.”

“Inside you’ll find brief bios on everyone in the room, along with suggested team break downs. There will be four field teams of four. There also four- make that five support members whom will be based here. Two teams will be concentrating on locating and apprehending a person. The other two will be looking for a device. However, against my superior’s wishes, everyone will have full operational knowledge in case you are looking for one but happen to find the other.”

“This is a huge operation and this will be a long briefing. Please feel free to stretch as needed or get coffee. We are all adults here. I know some of you came from the far side of the world and are jet-lagged, but please stick with us here. Mr. Goens- lights please.” He lowered the lights via his computer and started a slide show on the big screen.

“I think it best to start at the beginning, chronologically. In 1921 the newly reconfigured National Socialist German Workers' Party abbreviated in English to the Nazi Party, nominated Adolf Hitler as their leader. Twelve years later, in 1932, he was named the Chancellor of Germany. He achieved this and maintained power by eliminating his political opponents which later became the first victims of the ‘work camps’. Communist and religious opponents were targeted for execution first. Hitler at some point turned this tactic on the Jewish people, on whom he intended complete extermination.”

“For the better part of a decade they worked on the single elimination method by targeting each Jewish person individually. Eventually they realized the death camps had worked great for their political opponents, but wasn’t effective enough for wholesale genocide. It was costly in manpower, resources, and time. They also subscribed to the cockroach theory, in that if you saw one Jew, there were ten more hiding somewhere- breeding. Realizing that the ‘Final Solution’ was anything but final he commissioned for ‘other methods’ to be found.”

His voice became raspy and he looked around and Ashley was already holding out a bottle of water. He nodded reluctantly in thanks, “Studying History someone realized that we Americans stumbled onto a marvelous idea when we started giving new blankets to people dying of small pox and then taking the blankets and selling them to Native Americans, knowing that they had no immunity to it.”

“Unfortunately- for the Nazis, they weren’t able to find a disease that killed the Jews while not killing ‘Aryans’. So, being an industrious people, they decided to make one. They started with a rare strain of small pox that only a small number of people developed, but it had a much higher kill rate: Black Small Pox.” He cleared his throat, “At this point Dr. Shearing will take over and be able to answer any and all viral related questions.”

“Yes, thank you Eric. You’ll find a brief description of the two known forms of black small pox in section three of your books. This is in plain English, courtesy of Wikipedia. Afterward there is a whole Journal Article on the subject for the more scientifically inclined.”

Marta read the passage aloud,["Doctors separate Black Pox into two forms: flat smallpox and hemorrhagic smallpox.”

“In a case of Flat Smallpox, the skin remains smooth and doesn't postulate; it darkens until it looks charred. It can slip or fall off the body in sheets, sometimes all of it, causing instant death; although that is very rare.”

“In hemorrhagic smallpox, black, unclotted blood oozes or runs from the mouth and other body orifices. In the hemorrhagic cases, the virus destroys the linings of the throat, stomach, intestines, rectum, and vagina, and these membranes disintegrate. This version can destroy the body's entire skin — both the exterior skin and the interior skin that lines the passages of the body."]

“Either strain of Black Pox is close to one hundred percent fatal. If any sign of it appears in the body, the victim will almost certainly die.”

She continued, “The lovely Nazi’s weren’t satisfied there though. They combined the two Black Pox strains and then sought ways to make it more virulent and to target a select group of genes. They spliced it again with regular Small Pox to try to increase the virulence. They also succeed in making it more resilient by encapsulating it, which protects it until the proper conditions are met, namely by being in a host- or a hot humid environment, before ‘hatching’ and becoming active. The encapsulation is basically a ‘nut’ that protects the virus until the proper time. This has the added effect of delaying the onset time of the virus.”

She looked up and for a moment thought half the room was asleep until she saw that Aaron was rubbing the bridge of his nose and realized that they were in various stages of disbelief. “Go ahead, keep going…” Byer whispered.

“So, they were able to create a hybrid of the virus but were about forty years too early on getting the virus to selectively target specific strands of DNA.”

“So, you’re saying we are able to do this now- selective targeting groups?” Cross asked.

Marta suddenly looked very nervous, “I guess the official answer is: that’s classified. But, that answers your question doesn’t it Mr. Cross?”

“Well,” Byer coughed as he took the reins again, “the point being is that they failed to create a virus to target select groups, but they knew that they had one hell of a super virus.”

“Initially Hitler ordered that samples of the virus be sent to Holland, Japan, and South America for safe keeping.”

“A German submarine- U-864, was loaded with top secret weapons and supplies vital to Japan. Also included were parts and engineering drawings for German jet fighters. The official story is that while returning to Bergen, Norway to repair a misfiring engine, U-864 was detected and sunk on 9 February 1945 by the British submarine HMS Venturer, killing all 73 on board. It is the only instance in the history of naval warfare where one submarine intentionally sank another while both were submerged. *

The reality is that the crew found out about the virus, mutinied, sabotaged the engines, and radioed their coordinates to the British, whom they requested assistance. The Captain of the HMS Venturer was told that there was some type of contagion on board and opted to sink the vessel.”

Reina coughed politely, “I heard about this; that is the sub that was carrying tons of mercury right? It’s biological time bomb…”

Byer glared at her and suddenly she felt like the most naive person on the planet, “Do you really think there is Mercury there? No, that’s a cover story to keep people from disturbing the site.” Goens slapped his knee as if he had stuck gold, which Byer ignored.

“Two months later on April 29th 1945 at around 1AM, prior to Hitler's wedding to Eva Braun and their subsequent suicides, two of Hitler’s inner circle: Ritter von Greim and Hanna Reitsch departed Berlin by air. As they left they observed a Ju-52 sitting near the runway and a pilot waiting for something. Reitsch was later interrogated by American intelligence- for eighteen months. They were initially concerned over the possibility that she had flown Hitler out of Berlin.* They concluded that she had done no such thing,” Allen Goens scoffed loudly at this.

“What it was waiting for was one of the last orders issued by Hitler. He had previously ordered special canisters to be created to serve as the delivery system for our little friends.”

“In the last hours, the Fuhrer ordered operation Der Letzte Mann- the Last Man to be implemented. Previously, it had been decided that the canisters would be used as the ultimate fail safe. If the Nazi’s were ever faced with complete and utter defeat four specially designed canisters would be armed and sent to far corners of the world.”

“The concept being, that if the Third Reich failed, if no one was left alive that knew of the plan, the five year timer on the device would stop being reset and the virus would be released. The Nazis would then achieve victory even in death by wiping out their enemies. This in their minds allowed the evolutionary clock to be reset; hopefully a ‘more perfect’ Aryan Race would rise from the ashes and lead the way into a Utopian future.”

“In the 1920s aircraft already existed that could cross the Atlantic…” Bourne saw Nicky give an uncharacteristically broad grin as a picture of the Spirit of St. Louis flashed by on the screen. “Germany possessed several giant Junkers Ju-390’s; they were ultra-modern, fast, 4-engined and capable of flying 6000 miles. One was stationed in Holland and was waiting for the other plane to arrive. This plane could have reached Japanese Manchuria or, with a refueling stop, South America. It did both…”

“So, the canisters were flown from Berlin to Holland where they were then spread to different points of the global to ensure the maximum distribution of the virus. Africa, Asia, the Middle East, and South America were to all receive the pleasure of being selected.”

“The Department of Defense first caught wind of the virus from a Soviet defector who spoke of this super virus that the Russians had recovered research on- but not the actual virus. They were able to recover Nazi film footage that was made for Hitler’s eyes only.” He paused and then advanced the slide show to a film reel where there was no sound other than that of the original projector clacking as the film played.

Byer reached out and spun Ashley’s chair to face the crowd, “You don’t want to see this.” He stared out at the audience himself, having already seen it. He spoke with her quietly as the film played.

It took a few minutes before the crowd started showing signs of discomfort.

Marta cut in, “The first sixty seconds of footage is edited over a period of two days. The last two minutes are live and unedited. These were captured Russian soldiers that were in top physical condition before exposure.”

“Oh God,” the woman next to Bourne leapt to her feet and he grabbed her arm in a vise like grip. “I’m going to throw up…”

He quickly led her outside, where she vomited up an empty stomach. “I’ve never been so thankful to be fasting.”

“You weigh like eighty pounds… Why the hell are you fasting?”

“I’m in training for a job.”

Something about the way she said ‘job’ keyed him into her role, “You’re a burglar?”

“Allegedly…”

“The weight is a pressure plate thing?”

She nodded, “I need to be less than eighty pounds. The stuff you see on TV about a feather landing on the floor and an alarm going off is crap. Most manufactures default their weight settings to eighty pounds in case their client ever employs dogs.”

“…and if the default setting has been changed?”

“Then I threw up a lot of meals for nothing. I’m Malana by the way…”

“…Jason. Come on.” He noticed on the way out that she had removed the handcuffs and he was expecting her to make a run for it, but she tried nothing of the sort.

Nicky ducked outside a moment later, as the other woman entered, thankful for a break. “Hi…”

“Hey…” he said awkwardly. He felt very exposed for the first time he could remember.

She smiled slightly, “They’re taking a break… I wanted to thank you…”

“For what?” he said, honestly miffed.

“For arranging this,” she nodded to her sling. “I don’t know how you did it, or what you told them, but I know I would have lost my hand otherwise.”

He nodded curtly and stared at the ground, “I never realized how difficult ‘logistics’ is. I had to do a lot of things I never had to think about.”

She nodded just as curtly and looked absently at the ground as well, “Well I’d hug you but I really can’t… I can never express how gratefully I felt- when Marta told me that you arranged everything and had made my wishes known. The past year I thought I be killed and left in a ditch as a Jane Doe, no one knowing everything I’d been through. Just… thanks.”

“What happened anyway- how did you get hurt?”

“Oh, I was shooting at one of them and he shot my hands and my gun. The bullet took off some fingers and part of it continued through my finger and tore my hand up. I’m real lucky… Marta’s a damn good driver by the way. The girl has some skills.”

“Thanks again Jason…” she quickly kissed his cheek nervously, turned to dart away, only to turn back around blushing, “I can’t open the door.” He laughed pushed the button, waited for Goens to buzz them in, and then opened the door for her. Most people were now milling around with a few notable exceptions.

Nicky made her way back to the front of the theater where Byer was speaking to the Air Force Major. Reina, Allen, and Alex were configuring their workstations to conform to their liking.

Something about the way the Major was standing made something click. She strode over quickly and coughed politely, “Are you the Paige? His former Paige?”

The Major laughed, “I’ve never heard it put that way, but yes. I feel like one of your- what do you call them Eric? Squires?”

“Minions,” Byer said tersely, unsure of what Parsons was up to.

“That’s right, it’s Major Paige Tyler, and you are?”

“Nicky Parsons, we spoke on the phone…”

She recoiled slightly and then understood, “Oh! How did the salary negotiation go?”

“Well we never actually got around to pay. Mr. Byer, I am getting paid for this right?”

Byer glared at Nicky, but now he understood Nicky hadn’t told her she was a girlfriend as she had indicated, “Yes, everyone will be paid.”

Nicky nodded to the theater seats, “We should really talk…”

“Oew, gossip!”

The two walked off together and he heard Nicky say, “Wait- so your married name was Major Paige Byer?”

She cackled, “I know right? Sounds like what newspaper editors would call a car dealership.”

Byer heard Allen Goens mutter from under a desk, where he was moving cables around, “Wow, cock-blocked by a woman. That is either incredibly hot or utterly pathetic. Judges?”

Reina looked at the two women, “Hot…”

“So, hot,” his daughter muttered and all three joined in a golf clap.

“Shut up. Alright people, break time is over. Time for the second part of our operation...” Byer barked.


	8. Cult of Personality

I knew this chapter would take awhile, but I I do apologize for the delay. I did a lot of work on this and a lot of edits and reedits. I think it all compiled right. I'll read it again later, but I feel like I'm about to go blind. Anyway, enjoy...

 

Chapter 8

Cult of Personality

 

Eric Byer took a long drink of water before continuing, “In 1990 when the US came to understand the threat posed by this virus, they sent a team to collect and destroy the canisters. This was a long term ‘back burner’ mission that we gave little hope of success. Four operatives were assigned, separately, to facilitate this.”

“Two of the four devices were eventually collected and destroyed. The other two assets claimed to have been unable to locate or obtain theirs.”

“Later it was discovered that the other two devices had ‘gone missing’- as in stolen. One of them had been in the hands of Saddam Hussein and was one of the reasons the first gulf war had actually started. We knew that Hussein was collecting such material to try to ensure his own survival at any cost. It wasn’t until years later that, under interrogation, Hussein continually insisted that it was not sold to Syria with the rest of his WMD’s. He claimed that the one he had was kept near him at all times and had been stolen from his palace during the first Gulf War. He claimed that the guard in charge of it sold it to an American spy for the sum of three million dollars in gold, only he was double crossed and killed for the device.”

“The other was in South America in the hands of the Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet.” Bourne heard two knuckles pop loudly and saw it was elicited from Paz Carrasco, the asset that had let him jump off of the roof in New York; in his profile he was listed as Chilean. He saw Jason looking at him and nodded curtly. “He was placed under house arrest in Britain in October of 1998 and not released until he gave up the location of his device. He also claimed that years prior the device was stolen right on from underneath him.”

Malana smiled, “Did they leave a white glove with P.P. on it? I always wanted to do that…”

Ash whispered to her father, “Why would someone urinate on a glove?”

“No, P.P. not peepee. Wait, you’ve never seen the Pink Panther?” She shook her head. “What kind of father am I?” he scoffed.

Byer glared at their murmuring both and they fell silent, “At first, when we found out these two went missing, we thought they would be sold on the black market or used as a token during defection to a foreign power. Later we came to believe that one of the assets had taken them and was going to use them as a means of self preservation- a retirement plan. If we were to kill him, then later the virus would be released and he would win. It is the ultimate safety net.”

“Wait…” Kirill asked, “If this is true, why has he not declared it so?”

Byer shook his head, “From his cell? No. We would’ve had five years to get it out of him. He never intended to be captured. He was going to inform us once he was safely in hiding somewhere, which never occurred.”

“Two assets had gone off the grid at different points during the time when the two canisters are known to have gone missing. Furthermore, when they came under scrutiny, neither agent passed the sniff test. ‘Bishop’ Diangelo Ziccardi- they all head religious titles as nicknames, was the most likely suspect and one of the other assets Kane ‘Padre’ Tolman was deployed to take him out and retrieve the virus or… obtain its location.”

“Kane took out Bishop but claimed he couldn’t locate the device. It was the opinion of his handler that Kane was withholding information. That- coupled with the fact that: Padre went off the grid for four days afterward, blatantly refused to account for his whereabouts, and his questioning of authority, resulted in his incarceration.”

“Wait,” Cross blurted. “So, they had these thing since the early nineties right? What if he died on a mission or something? Wouldn’t he have left something somewhere to prevent it from going off?”

Byer shrugged, “We checked his lawyer and for safe deposit boxes and the like and found nothing. Besides, he’s been locked up for almost five years and nothing like that has surfaced as it should have if he had bothered to make such arrangements. Maybe he wants it to go off no matter what?”

Reina asked, “If he had ten years, why keep using the same device that the Nazis made? Why not use a modern rig? He could set it off whenever he wanted and even be able to remote trigger it from the other side of the planet.”

“Nostalgia,” Nicky said simply. “Besides, why fix what’s not broken? The other dictators left it alone for fear of breaking the vial at the heart of the device while trying to extricate it. Hitler didn’t provide an instruction manual and the device is terribly complex as you will see later. It’s like a giant clock and it was designed to be activated if the gears stopped for any reason.”

Bourne suddenly interjected, “Sorry, but what about the other operatives and even the director and his handler. They had at least some knowledge of the operation and could have either reallocated other assets to intercept the devices or even done it themselves. If Kane was checking in properly, then they would have known the meeting location and could have sought to frame him?”

“That is highly implausible… Two of the assets are dead. One of the others is here now, as well as their handler.”

“Well what about the fourth asset- where were they during the op?!?”

Byer interjected, “The fourth asset died prior to the church incident…”

“…and this has been confirmed how?” Cross demanded.

“CNN… The fourth asset had gone into hiding and it was sometime before he was located. It was only when he was seen on the news that his identity was substantiated…” He motioned to Goens, “Skip to part two…”

A video started playing of a familiar looking four story structure in a desert. “On Sunday morning February 28, 1993 ATF agents attempted to serve an expired warrant for child abuse at the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas…”

Goens blurted loudly, “Oh, please tell me Koresh was one of these guys!”

Byer shot him a glace so chilling that he immediately shut up. “Koresh was indeed the fourth asset and the ATF had no idea what they were in for. He had devised this compound, amassed arms, and recruited an army of maniacal followers in order to insure his survival. By the time we knew where he was, killing him would have proved difficult. After Koresh, we looked for candidates with lone wolf mentalities and took great lengths to ensure that they never met each other unless there was no other choice.”

“When ‘the Messiah’ abandoned the program he chose fight over flight- in the long term. The assets in the Emerald Lake Program were masters of manipulation and psychological warfare. He trained all of his followers to the extent that just one of them was able to destroy the FBI building that was the headquarters of the agents that conducted the botched raid on that compound.” A picture of the Oklahoma City bombing flashed onto the screen. “He conditioned these people to die for him and his cause and built a web of intrigue around himself hoping that it would make him untouchable- physically or politically.”

“The ATF turned the case over to the FBI. Once the Feds realized who Koresh was, I was sent in the guise of a negotiator to talk them out. The negotiations were really about the device, not the compound. We were certain that he had one of the devices, the one from the Middle East, and was more than willing to being about the end of the world rather than to die or go to prison.”

“After months of negotiations going nowhere, the FBI became unhinged and decided to breach the compound to insert gas. Once I found out- they had waited for me to go to sleep, I… commandeered one of the tanks and had it breach the outer wall near the stairwell so that I could enter the structure and eliminate the threat.”

“I went to the deepest part of the structure first and found that everyone was dead, presumably of hours of inhaling CS gas. I couldn’t take the chance of being wrong though. I rigged the structure and then made to leave when I discovered the device. Koresh had displayed the device in videos he sent me, but I wasn’t sure that it wasn’t a fabrication he made in order to keep the standoff going. I lit the building and escaped in the tank. I then spent a month living in a tank in the desert to ensure I wasn’t infected.”

“…but you saw him right, his body?”

“No. I didn’t go through the whole compound and it was full of gas which lowered visibility. If he was originally in the structure, he died in it. I can find no conceivable way that he could have fled or faked being in there. We have recordings of him there on site. There were no long tunnels leading away from the compound and we were using night vision, motion sensors, and heat sensors to watch the compound. No one left there alive.”

Nicky coughed, “Now that we have been adequately distracted, can we get back to the man that is at present trying to destroy all human life on earth?”

“…meaning that there is human life elsewhere,” Goens muttered low enough so that only Reina heard it.

“We think he kept one or both of the devices to ensure that he wouldn’t be killed. We think that the idea of a five year timer was appealing to him, meaning that he has approximately six to eight weeks to reset the timer, based on his window of opportunity before incarceration.”

Bourne butted in, “What makes you think that he is using five years? Or, once again, the device even?”

Byer motioned to Nicky who took the reins, “Kane is extremely crestfallen with the decline of our times and cites our landing on the moon as the pinnacle of humanity. The entire world to him looks ill. Everything he sees sickens him. He views the world through this idealistic lens; he has this 1950’s view of everything. It’s not really ‘rose colored glasses’, but the decent of mankind from dizzying heights, to the gutter in just a few years.”

“For example, he told me once of going through Wal-Mart and becoming physically ill at the sight of the people there- that he considered subhuman. I believe he would use the device because it comes from a bygone age and the five years just seems an appropriate length of time; also, he wouldn’t have to retool the device.”

“All of his evaluations were always A plus across the board. But its things that weren’t on the check lists that caused me to have concerns over his stability. The most obvious outward sign the he was coming apart was the way he spoke. It was a slow transformation and I thought at first that it was just a guise that he was working on. The way he spoke changed to become more refined; he almost sounded like Yoda or something.”

“In addition, his manner of dress became more sophisticated and he started doing odd things. He wouldn’t drink soda from plastic bottles; he bought glass ones from somewhere. He started wearing old hats and scarves. He started drinking 7 and 7’s and smoking cigars. He bought an old car…”

Kirill barked, “So, you sold him out for: drinking, smoking, and his ensemble?”

Nicky’s eyes narrowed to slits, “It started affecting his work. He would request antique weapons- like a M1 Thompson, Luger's, and Mosin–Nagant’s. No one in their right mind uses those anymore. He wanted to travel everywhere by train or ship. Whenever he requested women they were never sophisticated enough. He nearly beat one of them to death when she took it too far and curtsied- he took it was mocking.”

Major Tyler interrupted, “So, you hired hookers for these guys?”

“I hired escorts, the best in the world and as often as they liked. These men- and women, give up their lives. They can’t have outside connections anymore. Any ‘local attachments’ are to be terminated. Escorts are the trade off, release of sexual tension is paramount; otherwise… …unfortunate things could -and have occurred.”

Everyone in the room seemed on edge and they each had a different reason. The tension was so high in the room that everyone was afraid to speak. Bourne’s eyes were boring into her so hard he expected to see the wall behind her. She didn’t look at him, but he knew she was watching him. She was deliberately avoiding eye contact with him and considering Marie’s death who could blame her? He knew what she meant by all local contacts would be terminated and wondered if she ever arranged the killing of anyone he loved.

“What about you?” Ashley asked more loudly than she had planned and sounded quite awkward.

“Me? Did I hire escorts for myself? That’s a very personal question…” Nicky snapped.

Ash turned scarlet and shrank into her seat under Nicky’s glare, “No, could you have ‘local attachments’…”

“No,” she said flatly.

“Anyway, he broke eight of her bones including her pelvis and caused brain damage. He claimed that she tried to drug him and that she was a soviet spy.”

“That was the first real indication that he was losing it. Other assets- they would have been sent to isolation or reprogrammed immediately,” she again avoided Bourne’s gaze as he wondered if and when she had made such recommendations for him. He suddenly wondered if she had helped him out of guilt.

“But, Padre had always been the poster boy for stability and my superiors ignored my recommendations and kept him in the field; they actually increased his workload thinking that keeping him busy would keep him straight. Obviously most rational people would realize this is totally idiotic, but my advice was patently ignored.”

“Once he was pulled and sent for evaluation my recommendations were once again ignored, as were my continuous requests for a status update. Shortly thereafter Treadstone fell apart and most of the people involved were dead. Kane existence slipped through the cracks.”

“So, you forgot about him?” Paz accused.

Her eyes narrowed so tightly it appeared as though she were staring into the Sun, “No, I didn’t forget about him. I knew that if I brought him up once Conklin- our section chief, was dead that he would’ve been eliminated. That is exactly what they tried to do when his existence was discovered. The long history of assets being unable to assimilate into normal life dictated that.”

“So…” Cross began…

“LOOK!” Nicky screamed so loudly that her voice cracked. “We aren’t here to discuss your retirement plans. Every damn one of you knew what you were getting yourselves into- you volunteered for it! I was twenty years old when I joined the Treadstone program and even I wasn’t naïve enough to think that I was going to walk away from this. The ‘star’ for me has already been cast and is sitting in a box ready to hang on the wall at Langley- right next to all of yours and all of my dead friends. I was only three years older than that girl right there,” she pointed to Ashley, “and I knew I wasn’t going to be allowed to walk off into the sunset; so suck it up.”

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, “This guy has a bio-weapon that only around 1 in 10,000 will have immunity to. Do you all get that? Does that register to all of you? Did we mention birds can get it? Huh? You should all understand what that means!”

Ashley gave Byer a questioning look and he knelt beside her, “Normally you could create quarantine zone, walls, fire breaks, etc. If birds can get it, then it can go anywhere. Sooner or later even the smallest of islands would become infected…” he explained. She nodded gravely.

Nicky continued her rant, “This is an extinction event. You need to stop thinking about yourselves and start thinking about anyone else on this planet that you don’t want to have the flesh melted off their bodies… CLEAR?!?” There was murmuring, “I SAID IS THAT CLEAR!?!”

There was a loud chorus of ‘yes sirs/ma’ams’. She stormed up the stairs to the back row and barked something at Kirill and Bourne saw him get out a cigarette, put it in her mouth, and light it for her. She collapsed into the seat next to him as Byer briefed them for the next few hours.

They covered every aspect of Kane Tolman’s life from birth onward. There were many things each of them would say were completely irrelevant, but everything meant something to someone there. Bourne was fascinated to learn that Kane once beat Bobby Fischer in chess; sure it was 17 games and it was 14-1-2, but he beat him once. When asked he stated that he won by playing for a draw every time, which spoke volumes. He played his game slowly and carefully, drawing it out until the last piece.

He also claimed flying kites, during his off time, helped his aim when sniping; it helped him identify air currents. He often kept a pet canary and Bourne suspected it was to identify a gas attack or even a food taster.

After the first few hours Bourne realized that he would give everything he owned, granted it wasn’t much, for a copy of all of his own reports. There must have been a mile of paper on Kane. Every aspect of everything he had ever done had been studied under a microscope. Everything was in there, from favorite foods to who he dated in Junior High School. Bourne was tempted to ask Nicky for his, but something told him she would say no.

During that next break Nicky approached the man he had apparently been in the SEALS with; Bourne quickly made himself scarce. Jason had no desire to deal with that at the moment and he figured that Nicky was probably bringing him up to speed on his amnesia anyway.

As he passed the front of the make shift crisis suite he heard the Australian woman ask Goens, “So, you are really Anonymous?”

“Not anymore apparently…”

“You’re not what I was expecting…”

“Yes, I am quiet charming- and my rugged good looks…”

“No, you’re more like a game show host…”

“The Love Connection...?”

“…more like Card Sharks.”

“Great show!”

Bourne walked the interior of the theater complex, learning the layout and used the facilities. It still struck him as odd that they were here at a theater, but it did have an odd sort of brilliance to it. They had some of the best sound proofing known, but that only came into play if they were found and surveyed. He guessed that the incident in Australia was proof that it was possible and worse still: it seemed that Padre had recruited at least three followers already.

Bourne returned and they had already started to discuss the potential targets where Padre may have hidden the device.

They were looking for sites that symbolized America’s golden age during the fifties and sixties. Very quickly their white board was filling up with dozens of places.

Allen Goens called out, “Wardenclyffe…” and everyone just looked at him. “Oh, come on guys. It’s like the worlds very first cell phone tower and transmitter that Nikolai Tesla built in like 1902? He was way ahead of his time… It didn’t work and it was used to help discredit him…”

Byer nodded, “Kind of… unheard of but we’ll add it.”

Nicky yelled from the back row, “Penn St. Station. The one built in the 20’s could have been one of the wonders of the modern world- it was a thing for beauty and the tore it down and put up this brick eye sore in the ‘70s.”

Byer nodded and added it, as his ex-wife called out, “Here’s one close to that, the SR-71 Blackbird moth balled on that aircraft carrier in New York harbor…”

“Good! I like that one… I’ll add the Apollo rocket / Launch Pad in Florida too.”

Bourne walked to the front, “The Titan missile silos…”

“Good!” he simply added silos.

Bourne heard everyone moving, as they became in grossed they were all migrating to the front. He saw Ashley open her mouth then snap it shut, “Miss?”

Everyone looked at her and she blushed, “Well I saw Men in Black the other day and they talked about the World’s Fair? They had one every decade; it’s like the Olympics for scientists… They used to build- like a monument to it every time…”

Everyone kept looking at her until Bourne spoke up, “She’s right. I like that one. The Eiffel Tower was one of them… The Space Needle in Seattle too.”

“Fernsehturm?” Nicky asked looking at Bourne out of the corner of her eye, her mouth twitched slightly to let him know she was teasing him.

“No, that’s just a T.V. tower…” he said flatly. It was across from Alexanderplatz station where he had abducted her and threatened to blow her head off. It looked similar to the Seattle Space Needle but had a geodesic sphere instead of an observation deck. It was the tallest structure in Berlin.

Byer nodded, “Ok, Ashley. Go research it and get me a list of all US sites…”

Malana spoke up, “Waikiki Natatorium War Memorial? It’s a memorial to World War One soldiers that is in a state of total ruin. The state keeps trying to destroy it to build a beach front hotel or something.” Everyone just looked at her, “Believe me it’s a huge deal in Hawaii; they’ve been trying to do it since the eighties. It was a beach front pool inside a stadium- like a colosseum.”

Byer shook his head, “Right idea, but wrong area. He wouldn’t do it in an isolated place like that. He would want maximum exposer. Someplace with a lot of people going different places…”

“LAX?”

“No, airports are too high security. I don’t like that one, but we’ll put it as a last resort. Maybe check in with TSA as we go to major airports.”

Kirill said louder than he had intended and clearly with a smirk in his voice, “Disneyland.”

Half the people there laughed and Byer snapped, “There will be none of that. Every idea should be thrown out there.”

“Kirill’s dead on.” Nicky cleared her throat, “Walt was a visionary that dreamed of a better age and thought mankind was on the cusp of a Golden age.”

Cross added, “Lots of people- millions go through there a day. They say on an average day they have a visitor from every country on Earth.”

Byer wrote it at the top, “I think that is our best guess thus far…”

“The UN?” Paz asked.

“No.” Nicky said definitively. Everyone looked at her, “It has always been horrible; it’d be like killing a bunch of lawyers.”

“A good start…” Cross laughed.

Byer nodded, “We’ll have a team in New York anyway, so we’ll check it on the way, but I agree. It never stood as a symbol of greatness. Same thing as D.C. as a whole, politicians have always been corrupt.”

When they were done they had amassed a list of a hundred possible ideas of places that could have been targeted. They added locations for an hour, then sent another hour trying to prioritize them. Then they had to grid them out into some sort of search pattern. Different targets would obviously require a different type of search and a form of diplomacy.

They would have two primary assault teams and two primary search teams. Byer believed that they had eight weeks before the end of the cycle of when Padre could’ve last armed the device. Eight weeks to find a deranged assassin and a device the size and shape of an industrial fire extinguisher. They didn’t think he would go straight to the device, but they thought that he would move it whenever he did go to it.

Cross looked up and saw that the Air Force major was the only one still in the seats, even the man in the strait jacket had joined them. “Problem Major?” The woman didn’t respond and Cross barked, “Major!”

She turned towards him and blinked a few times as her eyes came into focus, “Sorry, Mr. Cross?”

“Problem?” he repeated.

Byer said softly as he capped his pen and tossed in on the desk, “She’s figured out why she’s here…”

She laughed, “No, dear,” she said mockingly, “I figured that out the moment I saw that film…” She got up and walked to the fire exit that they had entered. “…and the answer is ‘yes’ Eric. There is a bar across from Panera; I am going to go and get drunk. Ladies?” As soon as she said ‘bar’ Kirill, Nicky, and Reina were in motion. Cross yelled, “…and the question being?”

She paused with her back to them and her hand on the door, “I am the pilot of a B2 stealth bomber. The question is ‘If they fail, could you drop a nuclear warhead on an American city to prevent the end of the world?’ Yes I could…”

The complete silence was deafening.

 

 

I hope you enjoyed it. I will probably write a fun chapter (the last two felt like work to me) or a one shot Bourne story to unwind and then get to the action. Drop me a line if you enjoyed it... I earned it, I starred at this so long today that my eyes feel like they're going to bleed.


	9. Juxtaposition

Paris, France

May 28th, 2000

The day after the incident on Wombosi's yacht.

 

As the BMW sped down the motorway the woman in the passenger seat nervously glanced at the clock on the center console for the tenth time in four minutes, 2:14.

The college boy behind the wheel mumbled in broken French, "Corrine, are you sure you shouldn't drive? Everything is backwards here…" He yawned deeply and his hand dropped to her leg and explored the hem of the thigh high stockings. She glanced down again, 2:16.

She rolled her eyes at his American pompousness. He was the backwards one she huffed. He lied to her and told her that he was from Canada, but every American did that. "No, we are almost there. Turn here," he removed his hand from her thigh to turn the wheel, which had been her real intention; she had gotten him to turn a street sooner, but it should make no difference. She guided him though two more turns before pointing straight ahead at the top of the hill.

"The restaurant? But, I thought we were going to your apartment?" he fought back another yawn. She looked down again 2:20.

She reached up both sides of her skirt, wiggled out of her underwear. She was very careful to put them in her purse and to not let anything else fallout. "It is late and you are a slow driver; I am losing my nerve."

She knew that's all the encouragement a college boy would need. He had told her that a software company had hired him and was here looking for a flat, but she knew he was really a college student that had backpacked around Europe for months. He was here alone and he had been in Paris a week, but his hotel phone bill showed no incoming nor outgoing calls. He was awkward looking and extremely shy; she starred at him and wondered absently if he was a virgin. She was almost certainly the most attractive woman to ever show interest in him. She had picked him up at a bar, but she had seen him before from afar and had followed him there. She was still looking at him as he glanced over at her timidly. She hadn't been lying about losing her nerve, the more she looked at him the harder it was becoming to do what needed to be done, but she quickly put such thoughts out of her mind. It was too late for that.

His eyes were glued to the pale flesh of her thigh just above the stockings, "Sir, eyes on the road please; pull in there. It has been closed for several months now, no-one will disturb us there… Yes, pull there to the back." She pointed the spot she had picked out earlier that day. She glanced over to make sure the things she had stowed behind the dumpster were still there.

She heard a jingle and looked over and saw that he was starting to undo his belt. Her eyes widened in panic as suddenly she hiked up her skirt and climbed quickly onto his lap as she glanced at the clock, 2:22.

They necked for a long time, he wasn't a bad kisser but he did waste precious time looking for the clasp on her brassière before realizing that the hook was in the front. He reached up the front of her shirt, but instead of going for the clasp, he dove underneath. She let out a noise that sounded like a small terrified animal, that he mistook for excitement, as she heard the jingling of his belt again. Damn, she thought as he reached down and tried to pull down his pants enough to allow access.

She wanted to turn around and look at the clock, but refrained. "Err, we would have more fun in the back, yes?" she panted.

"Umm…" she knew he was debating the chances of his catch slipping away as he still wiggled with his pants.

She leaned back to apply more pressure to his thighs, thus preventing his pants from descending further. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt and unhooked her bra. She forced her lip curl into a slight smile on one side and said, "Come on, I want to feel you on top me…" she bit her lip as she stared into his eyes and that tipped the scales.

He nodded rapidly as she leaned toward the center of the car and started to climb in the back, over the seat. She took her time, careful about what she touched with her fingertips. She was on her hands and knees and looked back over her shoulder expecting to see him ready to climb over the seat, but instead she saw the clock, 2:32. She saw him open the door, get out and shut the door before could stop him, "Jesus…" she breathed desperately in English.

He opened the door behind her and she felt his hands around her waist, pulling her towards the edge of the seat as he stood outside the car. She marveled at how he was able to keep her in place but pull her skirt up at the same time. "That is not on top of me sir…" she panted in French as she pulled and twisted out of his grip as she rolled on her back.

She was shocked at his deftness as he advanced inch per inch and he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him as he was poised between her. "A condom please- they are in the glove box…"

He reached up to his mouth and ripped open a packet that he already had in his hands. Before she could muster another excuse, he rolled the condom on with one hand, she turned and looked at the clock 2:35. She looked back at him with the fear of a trapped animal in her eyes and she saw the cold stare of a predator. Geek or not he would not be denied his prize and as she saw his nostrils flare he reached under her legs, pushed forward pressing her knees to her chest, shoving her head against the other door, as he got ready to ram into her.

She turned her head sideways and sucked in a breath and held it. Despite the make out session she was as dry as the Sahara, not because of his lack of skill, but at her own preclusion. She knew it was going to hurt. He hesitated and she swallowed- willing herself to not cry-out; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Still nothing… guessing that he was waiting to see the look on her face she opened her eyes and looked at him. He had a goofy smile on his face and his eyes had rolled back in his head. She thought he had finished before things began until his head lolled forward and he drooled on her stomach.

"Eww… Cretin!" she snapped as she pushed him back and then placed a high-heeled foot on his chest and pushed him off of her and out of the car. She exhaled in relief, "Great job Nicky, you are the first person in History to use a date-rape drug on someone else and then get assaulted by them."

She quickly wiped down the back seat and doors, fixed his clothes, and put him in the car. "Fuck," she swore uncharacteristically, "Americans are too big, I should have pick the Italian guy…" She said it out of anger, but knew that the police can tell nationality by the type of dental work.

She got the items she stored behind the dumpster and put the big can of gasoline on the backseat and loosened the cap. She took out the liter of Jack Daniels and resisted the urge to take a long pull. She poured some in the man's mouth, spilling it all over him, and splashed some on his hands, then jammed the bottle between his legs. She rolled down his window to allow airflow, lit a cigarette, then jammed a second empty bottle between the break and the accelerator.

Listening to the tires squeal, she shut the door and leaned into shift the car into drive when she felt a gust of wind blow up her skirt- reminding her of what she'd forgotten. "You idiot…" she reached in and grabbed her purse from the car. She dug through it, got the fake wallet out, quickly looked at the John Michael Kane ID and put it in the mans pocket and removed his real wallet. "Wipe off the fingerprints and leave your ID and panties in the car… This is so not in my job description!"

She dropped the cigarette unto his lap, saw it ignite, then shifted the car into drive and watched it shoot across the parking lot and through the hole that she had knocked into the brick retaining wall earlier in the evening. She heard it thundering down the steep hillside, as it tore through the tiny trees and shrubberies.

She waited for a moment to make sure the fire spread and then turned and walked down the block to the pub she'd parked her car in front of. She got in and exhaled deeply. She rechecked to make sure she had everything and then drove to her office.

As her office was in a residential area and normal people tend to be a home at 2AM she had to park way down the block and hike back to the house they had morphed into an office.

There wasn't a soul out and the street was eerily quiet. She shivered despite the warm evening, "Why is it fifteen degrees cooler without panties on?" she whispered.

"I'm not sure; I always make a point to wear them…" a voice whispered in her ear.

She jumped slightly, but was proud that she didn't cry out, "God damn it Padre! You scared the pants off me!" she teased.

She looked at the towering man and even though he was in the shadows she instantly knew he was in a killing mood. She saw he was wearing a light windbreaker and she couldn't keep her eyes from flitting to his hands which were jammed into his pockets.

"Twelve seconds, a new personal best. Usually you look at my hand straight away."

His voice was cold and hollow and she couldn't help but stammer, "Ar-re you here to kill me?" She had never seen him like this. Usually he came off as very affable and light-hearted.

He pulled his empty hands out. He didn't have a weapon, but was wearing golf gloves. "No. I had intended on you living through the evening, however if you would prefer?" he said coldly.

She blinked rapidly at him in adoration, "Whenever they do send someone for me; I hope it is you…" she turned and briskly started walking to the safe house.

His voice broke and a glimmer of warmth shone through, "Why ever would you wish that child?"

Despite their twenty year age difference he had never once referred to her youth before. She was only twenty when they met two years ago, but he was one of the few that never questioned her abilities. "You would make it quick and possibly enjoyable."

"Enjoyable?"

"A drug overdose, force feed me chocolate," she shrugged, "tickle me to death. Some of the others…" she shuddered. "They… well they're…"

"Animals?"

She nodded reluctantly, "One in particular; he looks at me like he is fantasizing about disemboweling me every time I see him."

"Yes, they do seem to choose the wrong type these days: sociopaths and the men they recruit aren’t much better! Kids these days. They would send me to kill you why?"

She looked at him sideways as she unlocked the door, "I'm young, but not naïve. I'm never going to be allowed to walk away from this. You know that. I already know too much."

She ushered him in and turned the lights on. "Speaking of walking away, you're overdue. I've rung your phone off the hook for four days; where were you?"

"Sight seeing."

"I'm serious. Conklin was totally freaking out."

"Was? He has stopped. Why?"

"We had a problem we had to iron out. I'm glad you turned up today though, I think he was about to send someone to 'look for you'."

"How kind of dear Alexander to be so worried on my behalf. I really must send him a fruit basket."

Just then her phone rang, she motioned him to be silent, "I'm not supposed to have boys in my room." She hit the speaker phone, "This is Nicky Parsons."

"Goddamn it Nicky! Where have you been, we're into family time here…"

"Uh, well it's 3am here Sir."

He ignored her retort, "Did you take care of the Kane situation and make it look like an accident," she looked up and wasn't surprised to see a gun pointed at her.

She rolled her eyes and mouthed, 'Not you!' and slid a cut up passport across the table for John Michael Kane that she had doctored earlier. "Yeah, he was in an auto accident."

"Who was our lucky candidate?" he asked as Padre slowly put his gun away.

"A college student backpacking around Europe."

"A name Parsons…"

"Umm, yeah I got it here. Just a second," She motioned to her purse and Kane unzipped the small clutch and pulled her underwear out. She glared at him as she snatched them both and took the wallet out. "Steven Charles Young out of Vegas."

"Okay. We'll run it up and make sure he leaves France. Good work, go get some sleep. Still no word on Bourne?"

"No sir. Sir, speaking of Kane; Padre checked in earlier today."

"About damn time! Why didn't you tell me? We were about to sic the dogs on him. What line did he give you?"

She shrugged to Padre, "He said he was climbing the Alps and dropped his phone and it broke. I ran it and it checked out…"

He sighed, "It's B.S. Check deeper for travel in and out of Geneva and see what you can dig up. He's up to something."

"Yes sir." Padre scribbled a note and handed it to her. "Sir he asked me- casually, if I had ever worked with an Eric Byer…"

"Byer? Who is that?"

"I have no idea; I thought you might."

"Never heard of him. Padre's been around a long time, let's hope it was just chit-chat, but I'll have Zorn check on it. Go get some sleep, we can talk about this tomorrow."

"Yes sir."

They heard Conklin hang up and Nicky hung up her end. "So, who is Eric Byer?" Padre was still studying her, as he had been throughout the call, to ascertain if she was lying. She could tell he was still on the fence about her, which was a dangerous place. "You were coming here tonight to break in. You weren't coming to see me. You saw me drive by, park down the block and it spooked you. You couldn't fathom why I'd be here at 3AM. That's why you're wearing gloves."

"Quite clever aren't you?"

"Take them off. Please… You're making me nervous," she added reluctantly.

He peeled them off and stuffed them in his pockets. She reached out for his right hand and she held it for a moment, then flipped it over and examined it. His hand clearly felt oily, as though it hadn't been washed in a long time. "You stopped washing them 150 times a day; they aren't dry and cracked."

"I don't wash them at all anymore." He saw her cheek twitch slightly and her eyes dilated, focusing on him sharply. They both knew he had washed them before as he was subconsciously trying to wash the blood off. He didn't care anymore. He knew he should have lied, but he didn't care about that either.

"Kane… please. Please let me help you."

"Come now Ms. Lindbergh," her nostrils flared at the use of her real name which no one should know, "we both know that I am far beyond help. That is what you put in your report last time, isn't it?"

"No. I should have, but I know they will just hurt you more and you can't take anymore." She cupped his cheek and lifted his faced toward hers, "Why didn't you just ask me? Hell, ask me now."

"How do you know I haven't been here already?"

"You asked about Byer. Here," she typed her password in the computer and turned the laptop around. "Look at whatever you want."

He looked at her for a long time, "What do you want from me?"

"Huh?"

"You are putting yourself at risk; for what? What do you gain?"

"You keeping your sanity? You not betraying my trust by breaking in here? I think very highly of you Kane…" She placed the laptop on the side desk, which was against the wall as she hopped on the writing desk in the middle of the room.

"Did you just do that, put the computer on another desk and sit on one devoid of other items as a deliberate sexual overture, or was it merely subconscious due to your current state of ovulation?"

She realized she was kind of in a sexually suggestive pose, but refused to tug her skirt down, or lock her slightly parted knees, "I wasn't trying to make sexual- wait! What?" she blurted as the last word hit her. Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, "So, have you been digging through my trash everyday, or just looking at my calendar through a high-powered scope?!" she snapped, her eyes glancing up as she was doing the math.

He laughed gently, more at the calculations she was obviously making than at her outburst, "Neither dear girl. Your lipstick is at its darkest. You are always more snappish when it's lightest, then it grows darker day by day until you are at your most attractive, then it wanes."

She blinked several times, "Really?"

He nodded, "Barring the occasional funeral or hot date night."

"Huh…" she cocked her head as the psychologist in her started analyzing data.

"Is your offer genuine?"

"Offer?"

He motioned behind her, "…the computer?"

"Oh," she said in a fluster, "Yeah, go ahead. I'd rather you be open about it…"

She saw him pull up his own file and flip through it. She fidgeted slightly as he read through some of the assessments she had written. She fixed her lipstick as she saw it was nearly rubbed off. She saw him pull up his list of assignments and start to scroll up. The list went on and on, "You can hit home and go to the top or search by year."

"That is very disrespectful. I killed these people, the least I could do is not skip over them."

He scrolled on and on, until the background switched from white to yellow. "What are these?"

"These aren't Treadstone. These are the Department of Defense files; I started off in a parallel program." After another minute they switched color again. "These are from the Emerald Lake Program- my Genesis." He went to the very first file and read it slowly, before leaning back in the chair, deep in thought.

She looked up and saw a picture of a man, woman, and little girl. "The man?" she asked knowing he refused children and preferred not to kill women. Normal assets didn't get to make requests, but he had seniority and had a small amount of leeway as long as someone else was available for the job. Women and kids were usually the easy jobs anyway, which usually went to the new assets.

"No, the other two," he said somberly. "You always remember your first… You had killed before tonight."

She wasn't sure if it was a question, or a statement. "Yeah. The first time a man broke in my home; it was my fifteenth birthday. I shot him," he knew the silence in between the two sentences was where the real story was, but she wasn't willing to share it. The 'I shot him' held an unspoken 'don't ask' embedded in it.

"…and were you upset when the police arrived?"

"No. I was boiling water for tea and eating scones…" there was sarcasm in her voice but he knew that she was actually telling the truth. "Speaking of which… Tea?" she asked.

"That would be lovely. Would you like to place a wager on how fast I can get Mr. Byer on the line?"

She laughed, "I'd rather not." She got the cups down from the cupboard and knew that he was watching her closely even though his head was turned. "One sugar and a dash of lemon correct?"

"That's the ticket." She heard him typing and really didn't want to know what he was doing. A moment later the phone rang.

She whirled, "You were serious? What did you do!" she hit the speaker phone button, "Hello?" she offered tentatively in English.

"Who is this?" asked an angry voice, at which Padre grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

"This is Nicky Parsons."

"You mind telling me what you're doing?"

"Yes. You're not on my team. You'll need to talk to my section chief. He's still in the office-" there was a click as the line disconnected.

She glanced at the computer and saw he had pulled up a file on Byer; he had opened his first mission as well. There was a very young picture of Padre with a young woman. She sped through the first few lines, Byer had killed her. Just then the phone rang again. Padre walked over to the teapot and removed it from the burner, seeing that it was about to whistle.

"Hello?"

"Nicky, what the hell are you doing?" Conklin snapped.

"I just wanted to see…"

"You know better. I'll never warn you again about snooping. The file was even marked that it was flagged and you opened it anyway? Next time I won't be calling you- I'll call someone else; do you understand me!"

"Yes, but sir- Byer…"

"I don't care if he was the shooter on the grassy knoll, more importantly I don't want to know; neither should you. Go home while I try to smooth this over. Now."

"Yes sir," she said reluctantly as she hung up the phone. She turned from the computer she hit CTRL+PRT SC right before the file was disconnected from the other end.

Padre brought her the tea and sipped his, _"I left the dark paths of their duplicity and turned my eyes toward the light where there is salvation, truth, and justice. They have exiled me now from their society, yet I am content. Mankind only exiles the one whose large spirit rebels against injustice and tyranny. He who does not prefer exile to servility is not free in the true and necessary sense of freedom."_

She smiled faintly, _"Yesterday is but today's memory, but tomorrow is today's dream_ _…"_ He raised an eyebrow at her for quoting Khalil Gibran as well. "I was classically educated…"

He took two steps and whispered, "Why?" and collapsed as the teacup hit the floor and shattered.

She grabbed a book from her bookshelf and flipped it open to a place where the middle was cut out in the shape of a syringe, retrieved the needle hidden there and primed it. She knelt next to his collapsed body and whispered, "I'm sorry, but I don't know of any other way to help you. They'll send to Alaska for a few months until you get your head straight." She looked at his eyes, which looked questioning even though he was paralyzed. "The drug was already in the tea bag…"

She injected him with the sedative and bound his hands and feet in handcuffs before sighing deeply, "Well that could've gone better…" She picked up the phone and dialed her boss back.

Danny Zorn picked up with a sigh, "What is it Parsons?"

"Padre is here now; I had to do a 'take down'."

"You what?! Why?"

"He was the one that pulled up that file with Byer. He was going to break in here tonight until he saw me coming to the office. He found out that this Byer guy killed his fiancée."

"He was engaged?"

"In like 1990…" She looked at the computer screen, "It looks like he killed Byers wife and child…"

"Fuck…"

"Yeah, I know right. Who would do something like that…"

"Well, it's actually quiet common, but they usually don't figure it out. We prefer that our recruits be unattached. You're lucky he didn't kill you. Good work." She heard him typing and she quickly poured herself a neat bourbon. "Bourne is MIA, the next closest is…"

"The Professor- in London…"

"Right. I'll hit the panic button and get him there to collect him ASAP. We'll get the Proff to pick up the Wombosi mission once he drops Padre off at the embassy. Don't take your eyes off Kane for a second. Keep your weapon in your hands. If he so much as twitches you are to put him down- understood?"

"Yeah…" she said nervously. "I never thought I'd have to do this…"

"I know. Just sit tight. Everything will work itself out in time…"


	10. Fool's Gold

 

Chap 10 Fool’s Gold

Eight Weeks Ago (Three days after Angola)

 

Kane Tolman had been awake for three days straight, most of that time he had been driving nonstop. Sometimes he drove with a purpose, other times he was backtracking to see if he was being followed or laying down false trails. In Escape and Evasion school he learned that every second that you are captured your odds of escape plummet. The same theory also worked in reverse for escaping. Every second he was free made him harder to find. Now at the three day mark he felt that he was well beyond the scope of a quick capture and was as safe as he was ever going to get, relatively speaking anyway.

“Mr. Tolman…?” came a tentative voice from the back seat.

“My father was Mr. Tolman. Kane or Padre if you prefer…” he laughed maniacally and slapped the steering wheel.

She looked at him in terror, but then laughed so suddenly she sorted. “Tolman isn’t your real name?”

He shook his head, “No. I’m sorry I screamed at you before. I had forgotten you were back there and was embarrassed by my lack of professionalism. My apologies for the subsequent silence, but I needed an hour to calm down.”

“Thirteen…”

“Huh…”

“You yelled at me at 5am, now it’s 6pm…”

He shook his head hard and stared at the dashboard clock on the old sedan in disbelief. “No, madam. The sun is rising in the east.”

She said with extreme caution, “No sir, it’s setting in the west; you’ll see in a minute. You haven’t slept in three days; you’re beyond delirious. Please… I’m begging you- please pull over. You can mummify me in duct tape if you want, but this is lunacy. Think about it… If they caught up with you right now you are in no state to fight or flee. You’re easy prey and at this point you’re more likely to make a mistake than actually accomplish anything.”

He looked at her in the back seat; she was curled up in the fetal position and looked as though she was in misery. “You’re right. The sheer fact that I am in need of advice is proof of my delirium.”

He pulled through a drive-thru first and ordered food then pulled into a mall parking lot near the rear to eat. Suddenly he jumped as he was shaken, “Kane awake up. Kane!”

He was in complete darkness and saw a blond woman next to him, he was in a car but he didn’t know where he was and thought he was dreaming. He starred at her blankly, completely unaware of whom she was.

“Kane, put the car in drive, we need to move. The malls closed now and the policeman at the front has looked at us twice.”

He still didn’t comprehend what was going on, but started the car and drove out of the mall slowly, “Who are you?”

“Diane Webster. You broke out of Angola and sort of kidnapped me?”

He nodded dumbly, “I fell asleep. Sorry, I just had a weird dream. I dreamed that I was on the planet Mongo saving Earth from ultimate destruction at the hands of Ming the Merciless.”

“I’ve had a few dreams of that myself. I had such a crush on Sam Jones in high school…”

“I met him once- on a mission.”

“Huh? No, way. You met Sam Jones- Flash Gordon?”

“Yes, he is the founder of a company like Black Water that specializes in liberating people who have been kidnapped. Like if the CEO of Sony is kidnapped by Somali pirates; Sony pays him to go in and get them out no matter where they are…”

“Wow, that’s weird. You got his number; I’d love to meet him?”

“I did, but…” he began and then laughed suddenly, “…funny lady. Well played. He and I were set to do a job in the same place and pulled a combined assault. Otherwise one of our jobs was going to be a lot more difficult if the other acted first.”

“You need more sleep.”

“I do?”

“Yes, you are speaking like a normal person. Normally you sound like…”

“…an English gentlemen?”

“More like Hannibal Lecter…”

“Truly? I really must work on my delivery,” he said as he fell back into his normal speech pattern. Surely there must be a flea infested Hotel around the Interstate. We’ll find a place to recharge our batteries.”

 

 

Two Days Later

(Seven weeks, five days ago)

Somewhere in Texas

 

Diane sat on the rock where had asked her to and tried not to look nervous at seeing Padre retrieve a shovel from the trunk and start digging. “Kane, I’ve done everything you wanted. Don’t do this…”

He looked at her quizzically and then the shovel and the hole he was digging and laughed, “No, this isn’t for you madam.” He half bowed, “You have behaved in an admirable fashion. You can’t call them, but would you like to write letters to your children?”

“Oh,” she blushed slightly, “I don’t have any kids. Those were pictures of my niece and nephew.”

“Ah, I wondered why it took you so long to give up the location of your contact. Here I was thinking you an unfit mother.” Padre dug for several minutes without apparent luck. He retraced his steps and started again. This time after he was around a foot down there was a ‘thump’ and he grin broadly. He hurriedly uncovered the rest of his prize, “I’ll need a hand with this.”

She walked over and saw a military weapons crate and bent over to help him.

“Bend your knees… don’t lift with your back…” She did as he asked and was flabbergasted at the weight of the crate.

“What’s in here- lead?”

“No, Ms. Webster, it isn’t lead. The content of this little crate has caused more deaths than anything else on Earth.” They lugged it to the trunk of the car and added it to the stockpile of weapons within. He pried it open with a crowbar and pulled the lid off.

Her mouth hung open and finally she managed to speak, “Is that what I think it is?!?”

“Yes.”

“Can I touch it?” she asked timidly.

He cocked a grin and nodded.

 

 

One Week Later

(Seven Weeks ago)

Boston, MA

 

Pamela Landy was still with the CIA, but her status there was tenuous to say the least. The only reason she hadn’t been fired was the government’s new policies towards whistle-blowers and the current administration saw her as a patriot even though the CIA saw her as a villain. She had been promoted and was in charge of oversight for the CIA. That was a fancy title for the person in charge of Internal Affairs. The few bridges that weren’t burned by the whole Treadstone mess were now closed due to her new job.

She knew that the Director of the CIA was chomping at the bit to fire her and was searching for cause. What she was more surprised by was her ability to still draw breath. She guessed that she had screamed loud enough so that they were petrified to kill her.

She had gotten several job offers outside the CIA, but knew they were fake. They wanted her to quit, but she knew being there might be the only reason she was still alive. As long as she was in the spot-light she was safe.

That is what she had told herself for the last nine months; that is until she came home tonight. All of her ‘markers’ were in place, but she knew against people like Bourne such precautions wouldn’t matter.

She knew there was someone in her living room before she had even set foot in it. “Just do it…” she finally snapped.

“Step in here, turn the lamp on, and sit down.” She played along and the hobo looking hermit she saw sitting in her armchair was the last thing she expected. The only thing that made her take him seriously was the silenced pistol pointed at her.

She tried to steel her voice but failed, “M-Mark?”

“Ah, he left a message on your recorder. He is working a double; he’ll be here for breakfast. He sounded young, your son? I didn’t think anyone used those old answering machines anymore.”

She nodded, more at the fact that he was telling the truth, “Step-son… It’s just us. I got sick of other people listening to my messages.”

“Oh, they are still listening…”

“I know, but the bastards aren’t going to take me without a fight. So… …what now?”

“Now you are going to tell me everything you know…”

“Well we are going to be here a while; tea?”

He laughed sharply, “No madam. Dinner perhaps? I know you are considering every avenue of escape, but I would caution you to behave. I was in the Program and won’t hesitate to kill you, but I don’t wish to harm you otherwise.”

She eyed him for a long time and he raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling the truth, or you're the best liar I’ve ever seen and that is saying something.”

He motioned her to the kitchen. “Why is that dear?”

“I started as polygraph examiner and worked my way up through that department.”

“Ah, a very useful skill.”

She looked miffed, “You don’t know anything about me do you?”

“I’ve been out of the loop awhile. Perhaps it would be best to start from today and work backwards…”

“You were in Treadstone? So, you know Bourne, Parson, and Conklin?”

He laughed, “You left the S off as a test of my authenticity. Yes, I know dear, sweet, naive Nicolette quite well. Alexander’s passing was hard to take. Bourne not so well.”

“Conklin was a crook.”

“No. Whatever he took he paid for with his own blood. You never knew the man I take it. He would’ve liked you… you’re a straight shooter like he was. None the less…”

He rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands and she saw his nail bed and laughed. “I’m sorry. The beard, the hair, the ratty clothes… but you have a fresh manicure and a twenty thousand dollar Rolex? That’s a riot.”

“It’s just a simple guise madam. There are three types of people that never get looked at in the face: uniformed police officers, bums, and widows. I would look silly in a veil and law enforcement uniforms vary by county. The beard also cancels out facial recognition software.”

She nodded slowly, “So, from the top…”

 

 

 

Two weeks Later

(Five weeks ago)

Minnesota-

the middle of one of 10,000 lakes…

 

TICK…TICK…TICK…

Marcus DeWallace stared at the four dollar wall clock he had purchased from Wal-Mart as it ticked by every second as loudly as a metronome. The steady TICK…TICK…TICK… invaded his dreams and haunted his mind. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands: his fourth in ten minutes, and exhaled through his nose. The smoke pouring from his nostrils had not caused his blood shot eyes, nor the bags under them but it certainly didn’t help.

TICK…TICK…TICK…

He looked at the Glock pistol on the again. He couldn’t kill himself; he had tried for years. He wasn’t too afraid or scared; they had done something to him. For some reason he couldn’t. He couldn’t remember why, maybe they had hypnotized him.

TICK…TICK…TICK…

He was completely naked, sitting on the edge of the prehistoric sofa, and couldn’t remember how long he’d been there. He knew he was hungry, freezing, and parched, but had no desire to alleviate his basic human needs.

TICK…TICK…TICK…

It was late October and the lake had frozen early this year. He had purchased a house boat and removed the moorings and taken it to the middle of a small lake to isolate him from the rest of mankind. He had no desire for human interactions, nor did feel that he deserved any. He smelled burning flesh and looked down seeing that the cigarette had burned down to his fingers which bore the signs of countless burns from the cancer sticks; he no longer felt it when they burned him.

TICK…TICK…TICK…

With an inhuman burst of speed he grabbed the clock off the littered coffee table and tore the batteries out. Immediately the screams came to him and he tried to light another smoke with his trembling hands. The screams were always there: the teenage girl he forced to swallow pills, the woman he held down in the tub and cut her wrists, the man he had burned alive in the car… there were countless more and all of them were vengeful spirits clamoring for his soul as recompense.

SCREAMING…

He blinked as the flashbacks ended and smelled the burning flesh again. He heard someone speak out loud and before he could register the words his gun was in his hand and pointed at their source. “My heavens you haven’t changed a bit! However do you do it? I just have to know your secret.” Kane Tolman was standing but a few feet from him, Marcus hadn’t heard his entry due to his flashback. “Your reflexes seem to be no worse for wear…”

“What are you doing here?” Marcus grated, his voice so dry it sounded like two tombstones rubbing together.

“I’m getting the band back together… I also owe you a debt.”

“You don’t owe me squat…” he said without lowering the gun.

Padre slowly pulled a purple Crown Royal bag from his coat pocket and tossed it to him, “Oh, that…” It was heavy and Marcus tested the weight, “This is too heavy. What’s the extra for?” he asked suspiciously.

“I paid you at the rate from five years ago. Compound interest is the most powerful force in the universe. It would be customary for you to offer me a warm beverage, but allow me…” Padre started rooting around in the cabinets for coffee.

“I’m out of tea,” he bit acerbically.

“Well word does travel though the ether doesn’t it…”

“I can’t believe you let that trifling puta get the best of you…”

“Now, now… Manners my dear boy. I know you are unacquainted, but I assure you she is a lady of the finest caliber.”

Marcus huffed in disgust, “Whatever. I would cut her open- down the middle, and gut her like a fish if she did that to me…”

“But she didn’t, so you will do nothing of the sort. Whatever restitution I want from her is mine to take- not yours.”

“Whatever.” Marcus tossed the gun down on the table as Padre grabbed some cargo pants from the filthy floor and tossed them to him. “What’s a matter Padre; prison make you bashful?” he said as he pulled them on.

“No, but we have our reputations to uphold. How it would look if we were to be walked in on. I would hate for someone to think they caught us ‘In flagrante delicto’.”

DeWallace mocked in a haughty British accent, “Oh, the scandal Mortimer! The Wilshire Club might revoke our memberships; where ever would we partake in cricket?”

Padre had failed to notice that almost his entire body was covered in tattoos; it was something Treadstone forbade. Marcus saw him staring and blurted, “What? I’m not Jewish…” As if needing proof, he held up his left hand which had a tattoo of rosary wrapped around his wrist and a crucifix on his palm.

“I think we were all Catholic; I always found that curious… Oh well, that is a story for another day. I have but one…” He pulled up his sleeve and showed him a tattoo he made himself in prison. It was a clock with large dots instead of numbers and it had no hands on the face.

Marcus nodded, “No hands… it means ‘until the end of time’- a Life Sentence. Boy you got that one right Padre. Look at what they make us give.” Kane handed him a cup of coffee. “Now tell me why you’re here Kane, or I’m going to pick up that gun and start shooting.”

“You made a commitment to the cause and _you will keep it_ Marcus.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, that was to the point. The time is drawing nigh, now do you want to be in or out?”

“What would I be doing?”

“Well, first things first: You’ll be doing a lot of fishing…”

He glared at Padre for a long moment, “One condition.”

Kane was silent for a moment and then said with firm resolve, “Anything…”

“When this is over, I want you to kill me. Will you do that?”

Kane looked at him with such profound sadness that it couldn’t be faked, “If you still wish it. Yes, Marcus I will see to you.”

Marcus quickly dressed and grabbed his gear. As they left the houseboat he sang in perfect pitch, “She took me to her castle and I just couldn’t believe my eyes; she had so many devices everything that money could buy. She said sign your name on the dotted line…”

 

 

(Three Weeks Ago)

Reston, VA

 

Eric Byer always bought whatever he was going to eat whenever he was actually going to consume it. On the upside he couldn’t be poisoned or drugged, on the downside it created a pattern that he always purchased groceries after work. He varied the stores he shopped at, but it was a pattern none the less.

It was Halloween and the mothers were going crazy buying candy; the place was a madhouse. When he left he felt a slight tug on his jacket and turned and grabbed the hand quickly.

“Hey, buddy… How ‘bout some change?”

Byer looked at the bum, He was wearing thrift store clothes, had a long unkempt beard and ponytail, and women’s leopard print Prada sunglasses that were obliviously stolen. He shoved the man away. He checked for his wallet out of habit, “You make change; you don’t ask for it!” Byer snapped as he quickly went to his car.

“Oh, don’t worry… change is coming Mr. Byer…” Padre muttered as he glared at Byers back.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when Byer was walking out the door to go to work, that he put his hand in his jacket pocket and felt something in it. He pulled out the half a roll of coins and looked at it stupidly. He thought it had been a roll of lifesavers at first. He opened it and poured the US dimes out on the table. He shook his head- perplexed. He used quarters for the toll booths… Why did he have dimes?

He looked at three of them and then started flipping them all over, face up. They were all from 1946. He quickly split them into piles of 5 coins- 6 piles. 30 coins… They were silver dimes… Thirty silvers…

He remembered the bum and suddenly grabbed the roll the coins came in and scrawled inside it was a simple message- ‘you forgot these…’ He grabbed the table and flipped it over in a rage. “FUCK!!!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He whipped out his gun, fought the urge to fire it until it was empty, and instead rubbed the cold slide across his cheek.

30 silver coins was the price Judas had received for selling out Jesus…

 

 

(Three Days Ago)

Perth Australia

 

As Marcus opened the door to the University class room and descended the steps of the amphitheater type venue, all one hundred pairs of eyes were suddenly on him. He looked to the front of the class and saw his target, Marta Shearing, and then his eyes fell on the other woman who was standing next to her, gawking- Nicky Parsons! He had never met her, but had seen her file. Padre was supposed to be hunting her in Virginia. He double timed it down the steps and saw Shearing yank the fire alarm before they bolted through the door at the back of the room.

Students started filling the rows and he yelled, “POLICE! MOVE!” as he swam through the students. He hit the door at full speed and it was as if he hit a brick wall; the door didn’t budge. He kicked the door- nothing.

He whipped his head around and saw the sea of students filing out. He then turned back to the door and looked around frantically. He saw that the area above the door was glass. He whipped out the Glock he had misappropriated from a local law enforcement officer and fired three rounds through the window, which caused a stampede amongst the students. He grabbed a rubber mat the instructors stood on and flung it over the door, covering the broken glass. He made a stunning series of jumps off items near the door, namely the desk and propelled himself through the now open cavity. His vault was stunning but he failed to ‘stick’ the landing and landed hard on his rear.

He rolled to his feet and sprinted to the end of the hall- right or left? He figured he was less than sixty seconds behind them. Left had fewer students, so he took the path of least resistance. He pumped his legs as fast as he could and tried to ignore the rattling in his chest. He followed the exit signs and exited the building just as a shot was fired and he dove to the ground just as he realized the shot wasn’t directed at him. He heard Nicky scream in shock and then saw the gun hand sticking out of another car.

He sprinted to the parking lot as the cars sped off. He ran to a car that was running and had a young couple standing next to it talking. He faked like he was getting into the car next to theirs and then he dove in and had the car moving before they could protest.

The parking lot was filling with students rapidly, all eager to avoid class. He kept his hand on the horn and his foot to the floor, praying that the poor fools moved out of the way in time. He followed the cars, but it took him awhile to catch up. He watched as Nicky fired shot after shot at the car and then saw the other driver fire a single bullet and hit her center mass.

Shearing sped up and cut off a semi and he was far enough back to turn down the ramp as the other driver made the ramp- bringing them neck and neck. The other driver rammed him in a mock effort to clear space thinking he was an ordinary motorist. Marcus rammed him back hard. Both men locked eyes in recognition and both pulled away from the other and then rammed each other hard in unison. They fired an exchange of volleys, shattering windows and windscreens.

He steered away as if he were going to slam into him again, he got the result he wanted as the man yanked the wheel and swerved to ram him harder. Marcus stood on his brakes and then stomped on the accelerator as he hit the rear quarter panel which spun the other car ninety degrees and T-boned the car.

The man leaned out and started unloading into Marcus’s windscreen, but he had already thrown open the car door and leaned out and under the door- precariously close to the road and the squealing tires. He fired three rounds into his opponents tire; it blew apart and the rim started showering him with sparks. He yanked himself back inside the car, stood on the brake again and cranked the wheel so that the cars were facing opposite directions. He hammered the gas and sped away as he heard the sirens for the first time.

He quickly assessed the condition of his car and knew it was mechanically sound, but stood out physically. He looked for the car the women were in and it was useless, they were long gone.

 

 

 

(Two Days Ago)

San Diego

 

Marcus DeWallace was fresh off the plane and was very jet lagged. He started to pull out his lock-picking tools, but then out of impulse he turned the knob: the apartment door was unlocked. He slowly opened it and found it unchained as well.

Quickly and quietly he searched the apartment and found no-one home. He popped out his burner cell phone and dialed the only number that mattered, “Goens isn’t here. It looks like he packed a bag. According to the postmarks on his mail he has only been gone a day or two, tops.”

The stern female voice on the other end said, “Understood. Bootstrap wasn’t in his padded cell either. Byer may be recruiting too.”

“Why?”

“Addition by subtraction we think. He knows we will be looking to field a team and is gobbling up our likely allies. Goens is a huge loss. Search the place and I’ll forward your next assignment in ether,” there was a click and the line died.

He searched the house and found little of interest. He took a picture of Allen and Ashley Goens off the fridge. He laughed looking at her, “I hope you own a gun Allen…”

He turned to leave when he heard a ‘pop’ sound not unlike the tamper-proof seal on a beverage as it was opened. He looked around for a cell phone or laptop, then it did it again and he realized it was coming from the surround sound. He turned on the TV and saw that the game system had been left on. He heard the pop again and saw a pop-up window proclaim, ‘Goensgyrl’ has logged on. He looked down, saw the pink PS3 controller, leaned back on the sofa, and then he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

He walked to her room and searched it. He collected a stack of used concert tickets, her diary, a yearbook, and looked at her wardrobe. “So, Ashley… What kinds of things do we like?”

 

 

 

***** I spent all day writing this and I hope you enjoyed it. I usually, as a reader, don't like 'bad guy' chapters but there is so much going on it's unavoidable and this will most likely be the only one. I know there's a lot going on, but the crowd will clear out pretty fast. For those that feel gypped out of a good guy chapter, don't fret- I have a fluffy one in the hopper and will most likely post it on Friday.**


	11. Check please...

 

Chapter 11

Check please...

Present Day

Gary, IN

 

Everyone split of into different cliques upon entering the sports bar. Marta, Paige, Malana, and Ashley got a table together. Bourne and Nicky sat at the table behind them, followed by Marta and Arron. Allen, Paz, and Kirill sat at the bar where most of the others initially gathered before spreading out.

The only person that sat alone and was antisocial was the man Jason had been in the SEALS with, Khanh Nazari, who quietly drank his beer at the far end of the bar. Bourne saw him looking at him several times and wasn’t sure if it was one of those awkward coincidental glances, or if he was staring; he figured it was probably a little of both.

The bartender and manager were flabbergasted at suddenly being slammed, not having a night that busy in years.

Bourne asked Nicky quietly, “So, what’s the deal with Ashley?”

“Oh. Her mom was a CEO. She died of ALS…”

“Lou Gehrig's Disease?”

Nicky nodded, “She was basically her mothers nurse for three years and is use to getting things and anticipating needs. I needed a pair of hands anyway, so it worked out… She’d make a hell of a logistics officer.”

Bourne felt motion behind him, “…I also have a keen sense of hearing, as well as a mutant superpower!” Ashley said, leaning into their booth.

“I’m sorry… That was rude,” he offered.

She shook her head, “No, it’s rude to ask me to my face. Either way she isn’t any less dead…”

Then both tables were suddenly morbid and Marta tried to break the silence, “…and your super power?”

“I don’t require sleep- well I need four hours ever two weeks, or I hallucinate.”

Everyone laughed but Marta, “You have a swapped base pair in the DEC2 gene?”

Ashley suddenly looked trapped on the inside of the booth, “No, Marta!”

“Yes, you do-”

Ashley cut her off, “Yes I have it; No you can’t poke me, scrape me, strap me to a table, or put electrodes on me. I’m through with that! I like you Marta, but please don’t ask me…”

Marta clearly looked dejected and Malana quickly inserted, “I’m completely double jointed!” and she folded her fingers backwards, then her elbows.

Paige declared, “I can do anything with my feet that I can do with my hands,” the other women tittered and she blushed not having thought of the sexual context.

Reina laughed, “My stomach is vertical- not horizontal.”

Everyone looked confused but Nicky piped in, “It has more room to expand- she can win eating contests. That’s how that little 110 lbs Japanese guy always wins…”

“Nicky?” Ashley probed.

She shook her head no bashfully, obviously holding back. Something clicked in Jason’s head, “She’s a member of Mensa…”

“Huh, what’s that?” Ashley was clearly confused as Nicky’s eyes darted around the table embarrassed.

Marta managed to stop gaping at Nicky and explained, “An NFL stadium is about fifty-thousand people. Fill up two of those and she’s probably the smartest one there…”

“Wow!” Ash was clearly impressed.

“Jason?” Reina asked.

“I… I… don’t know.”

Nicky jabbed in retaliation, “He has an identical twin.” She grinned evilly, “They used to switch girlfriends in High School…”

The women looked scandalized until Nicky finished, “Jokes on him though; his high-school sweetheart liked the change- she married his brother!”

They all laughed as he blushed and proclaimed, “Okay! We’ve shared enough,” which extolled another round of laughter.

He turned back around and spoke lower and asked Nicky in French, [Is that true?]

She nodded, still grinning mischievously.

Anxious to take advantage of the elation he asked, [So, what’s the deal with the guy from the SEALS…]

[Khanh Nazari…? Oh,] she tried to sweep her hair behind her ears but lacked the ability. [You were both in the same unit…]

[Yeah, you said that…] he said tersely, knowing she was being evasive.

[Well, you were really tight. He was a pallbearer at your funeral… He stayed at your mom’s for the service… He took your death really hard. He… took a medical out for a while.]

[That’s it…? I should ask him to join us.]

“No!” she snapped as he started to get up, to which he raised an eyebrow. [He needs time. He’s having to deal with the fact that: you basically lied to him by faking your death, that you’re alive, and that you have no fucking idea of who he is.] Her uncharacteristic vulgarity made him pause. [Jason, just give him a couple of days. Let him come to you. He’s like a wounded predatory animal right now- if you approach him your just going to get attacked. If you don’t trust me- Nicky, trust Dr. Parsons. I know from experience: remember Alexanderplatz? You WERE going to blow my head off- thinking I betrayed you…]

“I didn’t-” she rolled her eyes and he relented, “Okay, fine. You’re right. So, I can’t play twenty questions with Khanh, but I can with you. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Oh boy… Is it too late to change my mind?” He glared at her, suddenly enraged. “Well if we are going down this road, I need another drink. Rum and coke, no ice.” He got up to leave and she tried to grab his hand out of reflex and winced in pain. She said through gritted teeth, “tall glass with a straw please,” and held up her bandaged hands.

He nodded and waited at the bar for an obscene amount of time between Paz and Kirill who were betting on a UFC match. “You guys do alright with the ladies right?”

Paz raised an eyebrow and shrugged feinting modesty, Kirill laughed at grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “I need some insight, if a woman told you…”

“Hell Jason, I’m the ladies man around here… shoot!” Goens pipped up from behind him. They all scoffed. He held his arms out wide, “Fellas! I’ll put my money where my mouth is, five hundred bucks says I can give the best answer to his question… Prove me wrong!” Kirill laughed and Paz held up his hands in surrender.

Bourne nodded, “Okay, I’ll play.” Each handed a wad of cash to the other two men who would judge the response separately. “If a woman told you ‘It was very difficult for me- with you…’ what would that mean in the female vernacular?”

Allen laughed, sipped his beer and then said flippantly, “She’s a lesbian, but she totally has the hots for you.” All three men laughed and they started to hand the money to Jason. “Wait!” he pleaded. He put his hand on Jason’s shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes a said the words lovingly, ‘It was very difficult for me- with you… you’re not like other men,” he added.

All three went slack jawed, he reached out and took both wads of cash, and intoned in a fairly good Elvis impersonation, “Thank you- thank you very much!”

They heard Marta waspishly scold from behind them with an English accent, “You three should be ashamed of yourselves! I see we are still fond of sharing Mr. Bourne!”

“Three?” Allen inquired.

“At least I expect it from you Mr. Goens!” she glared at Bourne and stormed back to her table.

Paz asked quietly, “She always sound British, or just when she’s angry?”

“The later…” Bourne sighed.

Goens added on bated breath, “Well I need to marry her then; she should always sound like that…”

 

Having seen hundred dollar bills being passed around, the bartender served them in short order. Jason returned to his table and began to ply Nicky with drinks, which turned out to be no easy task; she came from a long line of alcoholics.

“Okay well this is all speculation; not fact. I started asking a lot of questions- in Paris, about the medication I was dispensing; too many questions. Conklin basically warned me that I was going to get myself terminated if I kept prying and he didn’t mean my employment…”

“Medication?”

“Yeah, pills… They didn’t even name them. Blues, reds, yellows, whites… Just colors. The assets had a lot of weird side effects, especially if they missed doses or overdosed. Migraines, insomnia, lapses in judgment, sensitivity to light…”

She took a long sip from her straw, but Bourne knew better than to interrupt. She kept secrets from him in order to have power over him and she was about to give some of that power up.

“They were resolute in not giving me information.” She paused for a long moment, her eyes closed, “So, I was determined to find out. I tried to steal one of each type but they count every pill- every one. So, I started shaving them.” He raised an eyebrow, “I started scraping a tiny bit off each pill, I’m talking about the size of a grain of sand, until I had a enough to experiment on. It was more than drugs, much more. They were playing God Jason. I think they were trying to alter your DNA…”

“What?” he said in complete disbelief.

“Something Marta said sealed it. She said she was a virologist and geneticist that worked for a pharmaceutical company that was a cover for a DOD operation. She said she was working on altering the human genome. She was one of the Doctors that created the meds! She knows exactly what’s in it, what it did, and what it was supposed to be doing.” He bolted up, she knew he was about to pull Marta into a dark room somewhere, she tried to grab his hand again and squeaked in pain. “Sit,” she breathed.

He sat down, realizing Marta probably wasn’t keen on seeing him again just yet.

“So, I’ve been trying to find out the side effects and long term ramifications of the meds ever since. I tried finding assets from the Alpha test- of the drug program; but all the ones I found out about- like Koresh, were dead.”

“I finally found out three of the senior members of the initial trial: Bootstrap, Padre, and Byer. All the others are dead. Padre was on the Alphas for a year and then was taken off after he became very ill. Bootstrap was on them the whole time and was one of my guys too…”

“The nut job in the straight jacket and Hannibal mask? The guy at the briefing? Great. So, I’m going to end up as a cult leader, cannibal, or bent on world destruction.” He laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“Bootstrap started working with me, but went off the deep end. He stopped taking the meds without my knowledge- he was paranoid. He went section eight and they locked him up.”

“They?”

She clenched her jaw and grated, “I signed the papers, but I didn’t do the take down. I haven’t had access to him in years- I didn’t know where they took him. Until a few weeks ago I figured Padre and Bootstrap were dead. So, that left-”

“-Byer…” he sighed.

“So, he was in a different program-”

“For the DOD…”

“Right. So I didn’t know him personally before Langley and had no idea how to find him. I wanted to find him to check him for signs of mental and physical degradation. I gave him a physical and-”

“He consented to a physical?” As soon as the words came out he understood, “THAT’S why you slept with that creep? An experiment?!? To test his physical aptitudes?” he said aghast.

She looked down, then to the side, then closed her eyes. She kicked him so swiftly under the table that he grabbed his shin in shock. “I did it for YOU, you jerk!” She glared at him, her eyes tiny slits, “It wasn’t just ‘a physical’ either. I needed his DNA: saliva, skin, hair, semen… I got the works. Everything but blood.”

“For me? I never asked you for that!” he accused. “You did what you did out of guilt…”

“Guilt?!?” she scoffed as she looked at the ceiling. She mumbled, “Fighting… we’re always fighting… count to ten Nicky…” She looked at him pleadingly, “Why can’t you just say thank you… That’s all I want in return.”

He swallowed hard, “Thank you…”

“Your welcome,” she said sternly and quickly switched back to her ‘hushed female gossip voice’ “So, he doesn’t show signs of mental or physical degradation. Besides acting like a psychopath he seems fine…” She then relayed her debriefing with Byer.

“So, when you were…” he started.

“…gathering samples?”

He nodded, “Do you think he knew what you were doing?”

She hesitated, “Then I didn’t think so, but now I do. He definitely knew I had other motives- who doesn’t. I figure at this point he’s pieced it together. I’ve wondered since then if he came back that night to kill me; when he walked in on us.”

Bourne sat back and gave it some thought, she waited in silence as she appreciated his professional insight, “Maybe, but I highly doubt it. I think he came back hoping to catch you doing something… To get some kind of clue as to what you wanted. If he was going to kill you he would’ve tried to kill us both right then; my being there wouldn’t have changed anything. He never could’ve recruited me without you; killing me then would’ve been a bonus. So, what did you learn?”

“Nothing.” He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I left that day for Australia and now I can’t do anything,” she held up her mangled hands. “So, since I met Marta I’ve been trying to warm up to her to see if she’ll help us.” He looked skeptical. “If I did the experiments, I would need to figure out what they were trying to do and know how things were suppose to be- she already knows that. She might be able to tell us in five minutes, whereas it might take me a year and then I’d just be guessing.”

“But, Byer said he had the symptoms, but you said he was fine?”

“Right. So, either he: lied, found a cure, is cooking meds again, or found a way to postpone it. That’s why he was so smug about knowing what you were going through- because he’s fine.”

“He’s not fine. He’s psychotic. We shouldn’t rule out his ‘cure’ just causing another set of problems. We also shouldn’t rule out that it was part of the degeneration.”

“Point taken.”

“My brother said you freaked when you found out we were twins…”

“Yeah, it confirmed the something is wrong with you; you’re aging at an accelerated rate.” He opened his mouth, “Don’t ask Jason. I have no idea why, but I think it’s only going to happen faster. If we are able to stop this it might only be due to your brother.”

He recoiled slightly, “Michael? Why?”

“Because he is your identical twin! He has the same DNA as you; he is like a clone. God, there’s a thought, could you imagine an army of yous?” she laughed. “Well his DNA was at least the same as before they started screwing with yours. He is a baseline to tell us exactly how you would have been today if you hadn’t taken the meds.”

“That’s why you wanted his blood…”

“Right… Or, we maybe be able to re-infuse his DNA into whatever the hell you are now-”

“-and switch my DNA back?”

“Right. Or, a bone marrow transplant could put you body back in line- maybe.”

“But, I’d be normal?”

Her eyes narrowed, “Maybe, but you’d be alive.”

“You’re right, I don’t even know why I said that…”

“Because you’re human…”

“Speaking of my brother I forgot to ask you, he said you got a phone call there and took off? Who was it?”

“OH MY GOD! I forgot to tell you!- Wait! What?!?! Michael was still there?!? I told him to get out, to run!”

“We have the same thick head… The phone???”

She crinkled her nose in thought and said in poor Portuguese, [I think it was non-stick spray!]

He laughed and looked baffled for a minute, then he blurted, “Oh I think you mean-”

“SHHHHHH!!!” she scolded. [Yes, her… I know what I said…] not wanting to say Pam’s name out loud.

[Why is that shocking?]

[You don’t know?]

He looked confused, [Know what?]

[She’s missing. She disappeared two month’s ago. Everyone thinks she’s dead; like Jimmy Hoffa dead.]

[You THINK she called?]

[Yeah. Your brother picked up the phone- she thought it was you because of the voice until he said you died years ago and you where . Then she said ‘But, I know SHE is there. Put her on the phone. Now!’ So, I said hello and a woman said, ‘Get out! Run! He’s coming…’ I said JB and she said ‘no, someone else…’ and hung up.]

[…and you’re sure it was her?]

[Pretty sure. She was talking fast, but I was certain it was her at the time. Since then I’ve wondered if it was someone trying to sound like her, or a voice emulator or something. You think HE has her?]

[No. She would’ve been in the car with him, otherwise she would’ve gotten away- right? If was she was able to get to a phone, she would’ve called for help too. I missed you by only a few hours and HE was already there when I got to the house…]

[WHAT?!? You saw him!]

He hadn’t told Byer on purpose and hadn’t really had the time to tell her yet. [No. I didn’t SEE him, but he was in the house,] he quickly filled her in. [So, he was looking for you in order to find Byer and Ray Wills…]

[…and because he wants to eat my liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti. I don’t get it why would he be in the house and not kill Michael- thinking it was you?]

[That’s just it! I think at first that he believed Michael WAS me. He didn’t want me; he wanted YOU.]

[Right. So, until he saw me why would he risk fighting you! I bet at some point he saw a picture of you both in the house and figured it out.]

[Right…]

There was a lasting silence as their conversation lost steam. Finally he opened his mouth almost imperceptibly, then closed it and looked down at his hands.

“What?”

He shook his head.

“Jason, you can tell me anything…”

[I wanted to ask you something… private?]

“Oh… well… umm, well I guess that’s fair…?” she looked cagey and Bourne couldn’t help but dwell on the ‘Goens Hypothesis’.

[I guess it’s more medical actually…]

“Oh! Yeah, that’s fine…” she said, clearly relieved.

He pointed at her hands, “The pain in your hands, is it real or is it phantom pain?”

Every muscle in her body relaxed at once, “Thank you Jesus, something I know about!” she laughed. “No, it’s very real. The only part of my left hand that doesn’t hurt is where the fingers are missing. The whole thing is THROBBING so hard that I feel like one of those cartoon characters that gets hit with a mallet.”

 

Several hours passed, some of the team petered out to the hotel, but most were still there. Some of them were well past the legal limit and Ashely had taken up the role of designated driver, shuttling people to the hotel as needed.

Nicky scoffed, “I can’t believe you’re pressuring me into doing that again Jason…”

“So- it’s working? Come on… it won’t be that painful I swear!”

“Yeah, well it was last time- it was an unmitigated disaster!”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad…” he offered reassuringly.

“Oh, you don’t even remember,” she practically shouted. “I’m the one that has to live with the shame and misery of that night… I mean it was PAINFUL!”

“That’s not fair and you know it!” he said innocently.

“It’s NOT my fault you can’t remember… I suffered enough humiliation and anguish the first time around to last me a life time. There is no way in hell you are talking me into doing that again!”

“Come on… what’s the worst that could happen?”

She scoffed, “Oh, I don’t know, how about all of my neighbors listening through the walls at our utter ineptitude as we fumbled around in a vain attempt to perform in a manner our bodies clearly weren’t designed to! I swear, I couldn’t look my poor upstairs neighbor in the face for a month.”

He pointed at something in a laminated book she was flipping through, to which she scoffed, “Do you even realize how long it is?!? God, I think I’d rather impale myself on a sword…” to which he snorted as he slipped a beer and tried to hide his smirk behind the bottle.

“It wasn’t that bad… Come on, just the tip this time- I promise?”

“What? Huh?” she closed her eyes, drunkenly trying to analyze the sentence for a different meaning, as her rum addled brain heard the chorus of giggles for the first time.

“I’ll be gentle and take my time…” he smirked. “Just the tip…”

She leaned forward and whispered in French, [They’re listening to us again…?]

He nodded.

[They think we are talking about sex?] she asked bashfully as she pursed her lips, which made him feel slightly guilty. He nodded and she cocked an eyebrow,[Anal sex…?] to which he blushed.

“Well,” she said in a slightly higher register, “I promise to let you do that again- tonight… balls deep- all ten inches…” he leaned back and cocked an eyebrow in shock at her obvious fib. “As long as you let me use my strap on again…” His head reared back farther and the girls tittered as Nicky continued, “the BLACK one…” she said in an evil tone with a grin worthy of a super villainess.

Just as he was about to respond the karaoke DJ announced, “Alright, next up is Archie and Betty…”

Jason stood up and pulled her to her feet, taking the lyric book with him. “Betty?” she snapped as he drug her to her feet. “You made me Betty; I am totally a Veronica!” she barked over the applause as people saw him leading her with an iron grip to the little stage which was little more than a crate.

“I know you are, you just don’t like to admit it…”

“Come on Jason- really?!? Karaoke? I can’t believe you even owned one of those infernal machines. That- back there: the sex thing, was totally Bourne circa 1999. It’s nice to see he’s still in there somewhere…”

As she climbed onto the platform she stared out the front window and just as Jason was contemplating what he was seeing she managed a single word, “…rain-” which was his first thought too. It first appeared that it was raining down a torrent a hundred yards away, but that it wasn’t raining where they were yet. Kirill, Paz, and Ashley were twenty yards away and were about to get in a car when Paz grabbed her and swept her back over his arm like they were in a 1950’s movie about to kiss, then he pulled his jacket over her face as a vampire would with his cloak. Kirill dove in to the open car door. He saw Khanh Nazari, who was standing out front smoking a cigar, go ridged then was suddenly in motion and screamed something he couldn’t hear over the bar noise.

One could say that Bourne’s Drill Sergeant, his Treadstone training, years of combat experience, or even his chemical enhancement were owed the credit for his reaction, but that wasn’t true. The reality is that he reacted on something else, something primal that was ingrained in all forms of life: terror. In the millisecond it took for him to realize what he saw, he felt the need to flee. Luckily he still had his hands on Nicky’s waist; he wrapped his arms around her completely, hurled them off the platform, and screamed the same thing he knew his old friend had screamed outside, “INCOMING!!!” as the shock wave from a massive explosion hit the building and it came apart like a house of cards.

He and Nicky were only halfway to the ground when it hit them and they went spinning through the air at what seemed like light speed. He knew Nicky screamed and felt something hit her and she went limp and he desperately fought to hold onto her despite the centrifugal force of their spin. He hit the rear wall at high speed and they fell to the ground and he landed on her hard. In a fraction of a second he heaved himself up her body using his torso to cover Nicky’s head, neck, and body; then something heavy fell and hit his back, then his head, and darkness took him.

 

 


	12. Worst Birthday Ever

**_***READ ME*** The chapter below is a 'deleted scene'. I had decided to cut it as it interrupts the flow of the story. It details things Jason somehow knows about Nicky; things she never told him. You won't miss any 'clues' or plot if you skip this chapter, but it's here if you want to read some or all of it. Feel free to read it, skim it, skip it, or come back to it later. I had fun writing it and couldn't delete it_ ** **_…_ **

****

As Jason Bourne's mind struggled to regain consciousness he dreamed about things from the past, but he knew that he wasn't seeing his own memories, nor had he seen or met any of the people involved; except for Nicky. His mind was rendering events from her past and was filling in other people and places to set the scenes in his mind. For instance he first imagined Michael Keaton ala Bruce Wayne pacing on a marble floor.

A huge door opened and a private Doctor, whom he imaged as Alan Alda, came out. "Mr. Lindbergh, I'm sorry but they just came too soon. We lost the eldest child, your wife told me to take the second… Your wife… we can't stop the bleeding. It won't be long… she is asking for you."

His face turned scarlet and for a moment it looked like he was going to hit the Doctor, "That child will be the first-born and will never be second at anything; do you understand!"

He went in, then returned later and was walking briskly; clearly leaving. The doctor interceded, "Sir, we need to know which name…"

"What is it?" he barked as he pulled the blanket away from the baby the nurse was holding. A tiny hand reached out and grabbed his pinkie and he jerked his hand away, leaving the little hand grasping at air.

"A girl… You had decided on Isabella and Nicolette?"

"No, she picked those. Constance…" he barked as he glared at the Doctor, clearly wanting him to move.

"Sir, it is very important to hold the baby soon after birth, so she will know who will take care of her."

"You!" he pointed to one of the maids who had assembled, "You hold her. She is now your sole responsibility… I must return to work."

 

Everything faded to black and then he saw her at the age of three, unwrapping a huge box, it was wrapped in birthday paper. Her father helped her open it and then held her up so she could peer in, "…Books?" she asked clearly disappointed.

"They are more than books, it is an encyclopedia…" and he spelled in for her. "Inside them you can see and learn about anything! The perfect gift for a prodigy."

"Dolly, I wanted a Dolly?" she said skeptically. He flipped to the entry for doll and she rubbed the picture of the doll. "A pony?" He flipped to the entry for pony and she read some of it. Her eyes suddenly became as big as the world, as only a child's could, "Mommy!"

His face turned so scarlet that some of it looked purple, "No. Mommy's in a different box."

"But," and she looked around for another box.

"Mr. Lindberg! How dare you say something like that to a child!" her large creole nurse barked.

"Excuse me?!"

"Fifteen years I've worked for you. Fifteen long years. You don't even know my name do you? You know what, I don't care. You treat us like slaves and I am fine with that! But I swear to the Lord Jesus- if you talk to that baby like that again I will brain you to death in your sleep!"

"Do you have any clue…"

"Clue?! Clue! You want a Clue you sadistic fool: Mr. Lindbergh! in the bedroom! with the mother fucking candlestick! Or, would you rather it be in the study?!" she said as she grabbed a fire-iron. She poked him in the chest with it, "DEAD."

The burly creole woman, who outweighed him by one hundred pounds, backed him into a corner, "I know your cowardly ass is already thinking that you'll call someone and have me thrown out, but you should rethink that Mr. L. You know why? Because I'll die before I let anyone hurt that baby! That includes your dumb ass! If only I would have been here when that poor Lindbergh Baby was kidnapped and left to die in that gutter; the Lord Jesus would've come down from on high to carry that baby-killer through the pearly gates of Heaven himself just to stop his screaming. You can't buy that, not with all the money in the world. Now I'm going to give her as much cake as she wants and take her to the park to see Alice in Wonderland. If my stuff is packed by the door when I get back, I'll know your answer. Otherwise we are going to both forget this ever happened."

She threw down the fire-iron, "By the way, my name is Hanna." She picked Nicky up and took her to the kitchen.

 

The blackness swirled again and suddenly he was in a sea of faceless people, the men wearing straw hats and all the women were sporting broad-brimmed hats. He thought it was the 1920's until he saw all the martini glasses with a thick green liquor- mint juleps and he understood. He was at a Triple Crown race. He saw that he was in a VIP box and that Nicky was there with her father.

The race started and she looked at him with adoration, "You're sure I can ride Alge?" Jason knew somehow that it was a year later, on her fourth birthday.

"Algernon… Yes, last year you wanted a pony and so I got you one. I give nothing but the best." Her horse was in the lead coming around the back stretch and then suddenly went end-over-end and didn't get up.

"Alge fell down! Get up Alge!"

He grabbed up his daughter and tried to get out of the booth. "Daddy, the man has a gun!?" he heard the shot and expected her to scream but she squeezed her eyes shut and squeaked, "Alge's going in the box…"

 

The blackness swirled again and he was in a formal dinning room with an impossibly long table and a considerably older Nicky was opposite her father. She was in her awkward teen years and Bourne figured she was twelve.

"I am sorry I missed your college graduation Constance; I had business…"

"I know father," she said smiling broadly, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "How is the gumbo?"

"I have never tasted better. Hanna outdid herself…"

She beamed from ear to ear showing more teeth than she had in decade, "I made it for you. I knew it was your favorite…"

Suddenly his face turned scarlet and the smile fell off her face instantly. He turned to the butler, "Bring her to me…" and he scurried off.

She stammered, "Father, it took me all day. You always wanted me to be the best and I made you the best gumbo…"

He glowered her into silence as though she had done it out of an act of rebellion.

Hanna came from the kitchen and didn't even have time to speak, "You instructed her on the preparation of this meal?"

"Yes sir…"

"Why?"

"Sir, it's her birthday. You were very specific that she be allowed to do anything she wanted this year. She wanted to do this for you."

"I understand. You had to choose between two conflicting decrees. You are not to blame here. You may leave." She cast Nicky a worried look and left.

"So, you deliberately planned this coup? You chose today so that she would be conflicted?"

"No…" his eyes bore into hers, "Well yes, but not because…"

"Never again. Never again will you waste one second of your precious life and the abilities bestowed by your dying mother to prepare a common meal. If your hand ever touches a stove-top again you are no longer a daughter of mine. Is that clear enough?"

She stared at him blankly, "Yes, father… May I be excused?"

"No. You made it. You eat it… All of it."

 

There was another swirl and he was in the room with them both and they were looking at a grand piano with a huge bow on it; it was her thirteenth birthday. He saw Nicky's eyes darting around as she tried to find the right words, "A piano father?"

"Yes, you said once you want to learn an instrument…"

"A guitar…?"

"Yes, but that is a simpletons instrument for the common man. That's one step from a banjo. It will never challenge you as this will."

She spoke slowly, "But a piano isn't practical right now. I will be traveling to and from college; then the talk of world travel… I won't have time to excel without practice and a piano can't be carried."

He was standing behind her and there was a long silence, "So, your suggestion?"

"A violin is: a stringed instrument, challenging, portable, and aristocratic. It is a better choice until I am settled, then a piano would be wonderful. I could also practice outside until I am worthy of your audience." She added very softly, "Mother played it as well… but I understand if it would be painful."

She heard him suck his tooth, something he had never heard him do. "A properly played violin should move any man to tears. Your reasoning is sound. I will return it." He walked to a bookcase and removed a violin from a glass case. "It was your mothers. A wedding present from my father. Her name is Jean-Marie Leclair…"

"A Stradivarius?" she raised an eyebrow.

He nodded.

"I will treasure it always…"

"Don't treasure it; play it until it falls to pieces. Then I'll buy you another…"

He turned on his heel and left.

 

The blackness swirled again and he found himself in a dorm room; it was clearly high-end, but a dorm room none the less. The building had an eerie stillness about it, almost as if deserted. He saw Nicky laying in bed and she moved slightly, then groaned painfully and looked at her watch, "WHAT?!" she shrieked and looked over at her alarm clock that was not lit up; she picked it up and saw the cord was cut.

"No! No…" she jumped up and ran to the bathroom and screamed… She saw SLUT written across her forehead in marker and tried to scrub it off to no avail. She saw other nasty things written on the front of her shirt and the back proudly proclaimed 'Walk of Shame Tour 1995' on the back.

"Screw it. I have twenty minutes to get to the station… I can do this!"

She flung open her suitcase and it was empty, "Those bitches!" She knew better than to bother to look for her clothes. She saw her violin case and her heart sank, "Please no… Please…" She opened it to see the violin inside. The strings were cut, but it was fine.

She grabbed her violin, purse, a wet washcloth and bolted out the door. If she missed the train she would be trapped here for at least the weekend, the term was over. She ran across campus and through some woods. She got to the station with barely a second to spare.

She sat in her seat on the train and clenched her eyes shut, trying to not hear the people talking about her.

"It might come off now…"

She opened her eyes and gaped. The cute Navy ROTC guy she had seen around campus was sitting across from her. She had marveled at him for years, "Wh-hat?"

"The writing… It looks like you ran here? The salt and oil from your sweat should help…"

She muttered, "…worst birthday ever…" as she tried to scrub with the washcloth.

He laughed, "We've all been there."

"Yeah. I thought the people in my dorm were being nice for once… They hate me."

"Tactical error, trusting the enemy. You're a student? How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

He laughed, "That explains why you're talking to me… Everyone else thinks I'm a recruiter…"

"I know who you are. We pass each other running every morning- for two years…" she said clearly insecure at going unnoticed.

"Oh… Sorry. When I run I'm extremely… focused. I don't really notice anything at all." He added bashfully, "I imagine that I'm a wolf; please don't tell anyone…" he laughed.

She laughed, "I always thought you were ignoring me. You look hypnotized almost."

The conductor came around for the tickets and she found out that her purse was full of green jello. "They took time to make a jello mold?"

"Jello shots?"

She sniffed her purse, "Ew… yeah." She held up the dripping green ticket and the elderly conductor snapped, "I can't take that…"

The Navy guy huffed, "Morris, you were a Marine. You've never woken up in a similar state? She's going to have to see her parents like this… Give her a break." He huffed at took the ticket.

"Thank you…"

"Sure. Here, take my gym bag. There are some clean sweats and socks in there. Go change…"

She blinked back tears, "Thanks…" A short time later she was scrubbing her face in bathroom, "Great. Just great. Cutest- guy- ever- and you look like a fool." She sniffed the gray shirt that said NAVY across the front and sighed, "God, even his sweat smells good…"

 

The darkness swirled again and he saw Nicky sitting a the dinning room table again, clearly she was older and at fifteen she was closer to being a woman. She was her full height of five eight and looked less scrawny than last year, not that she ever really had much of a figure.

She sat quietly reading a newspaper. She was elegantly dressed and wearing makeup and jewelry for the first time in the visions. Somehow he knew that she had planned on going shopping today at stores on 5th avenue. He swallowed hard out of reflex; something was wrong. He could feel it even though he wasn't there and suddenly he realized from his own thoughts that she had planned to go shopping. She never made it.

She looked at her watch; it was an old men's watch which seemed important to him, but he knew he wouldn't find out about that here- not today. Suddenly she laughed loudly, then yelled toward the kitchen, "Hanna, you're two minutes late. I told you the next time my Eggs Benedict wasn't on time that I was going to brain you with a fire-place poker."

She cocked her head and sniffed, then curled her nose. "Hanna?!"

Bourne whispered as if he was her guardian angel, "Get out- run. This isn't right."

She had looked up, waiting for a response. Her eyes glanced toward the hall that led to the front door. She got up and walked away from the kitchen and towards the fireplace, she grabbed the fire-iron and crept to the kitchen door. She pushed on it very gently and slowly crept inside. "Hanna?" she whispered. She looked around the corner and saw the eggs burning on the stove and her nanny laying on the ground.

Bourne knew very well he couldn't change the past but he felt as though he were engrossed in a horror movie and Nicky was the babysitter. He knew from the way the body was laying, with the limbs spread out wide, that she was murdered. People that died of natural causes are usually in tight balls, or clutching their chests as opposed to fighting off an attacker.

Nicky sprinted and slid to the woman whom had raised her, dropping the fire poker on the way. "Hanna!" Nicky saw her mouth and and eyes opened wide and dark marks on her neck. She leaned closer and saw the rope marks around her neck.

Bourne was rubbing his eyes with his hands, as if he had a migraine as he breathed, "behind you…"

The rope was around her neck in a flash and pulling her backward. He didn't open his eyes, he didn't want to she her suffer. He heard the fire-iron grating on the floor as she clawed at it, trying to bring it within reach. "It's useless close up. The floor is waxed, spin around and push off him with your feet…" He heard the room grow quiet and he heard her watch ping off the tiles as her hand hit the tile- lifeless.

When Bourne opened his eyes he was elsewhere. He saw Nicky's small hand laying in a pool of sunlight, tied at the wrist. Time seemed to fast forward and the sun set, the moon rose, then set, and the sun came up and traveled across the sky for most of another day. Time slowed and he saw her hand straining again at the ropes and finally it broke free and as she reached for the nightstand he understood that this time he was seeing through her eyes. He figured that meant she told him this part, or maybe he was seeing this part through her eyes because he was more emotionally involved?

She grabbed a revolver her father always kept on his bedside table- ever since she was little. She struggled to open the cylinder with one hand, checked the load and flipped it closed. She pointed the gun at the door and waited.

"That's too far away unless you're a good shot…" she put her hand and the gun under the pillow and waited. "Don't wait too long either… When his feet touch the rug do it."

He watched as her attacker entered with a tray of food and as he stepped on the rug she jerked up and fired twice, both hit his lower chest. The tray dropped and crashed to the ground as she took aim and fired once, waited, then again into his heart. The man fell to the ground and she took aim again and fired the last two bullets to his head.

Time sped forward a few hours and she was in the kitchen as the coroner removed the woman whom had acted as her mother. "So, Ms. Lindberg why did you wait so long to call?" a fat useless looking detective asked.

"I was in shock," she said simply as she drank another cup of tea. "Scone?" she asked politely.

"No, thank you," he said, in mild shock himself. "…and you maintain that there was no sexual assault."

"That is the seventh time you've asked. No. He broke in here to hold me until my father came home from the Hampton's so he could make him open the safe."

"So, you don't know the combination?"

"I certainly do know it…"

"Why didn't you just give it to him?"

"So, you could investigate two homicides? I would have been useless once he had it."

"…and when will your father be home?"

"Tonight. He is flying in tonight."

Everything was telling the detective she was lying through her teeth, but her eyes weren't red or puffy and he had never seen a victim so collected. He was wondering if she was a sociopath until he opened the door to leave and there was a delivery with three dozen flowers to sign for. After she tipped the delivery boy and he awkwardly said, "Happy birthday ma'am," as Hanna's body was wheeled by. Her stony façade quickly started to crumble and she shut the door.

 

Darkness swirled again and he saw what he thought was Nicky's bedroom- this time as the furniture was expensive but feminine, and he heard her giggle behind him. He realized from a moan that followed why he couldn't see the bed. Details had never been given, so his mind couldn't fill in the blanks. He heard another moan as it escaped her lips. The door opened and there was a flurry of movement on the bed, but it was too late. "Constance, I came back a day early so," finally realizing what he was seeing his face went scarlet. "You…" he wagged his finger, "You have ten minutes to get out of this house…" Bourne heard movement. "No, not you! HER!" he barked pointing a finger.

"Father!"

"Ten minutes. I'm not cutting you off, but I won't tolerate that kind of… behavior… in this house! I will have the driver waiting," he barked as he slammed the door.

 

Blackness swirled and the angry clicking of high heels heralded Nicky's arrival. Jason knew she was fuming by the sound even before she materialized. He saw her walking briskly down an upstairs hallway and opened a huge ornately carved door, into a bedroom.

"Two years," she fumed. "Two years of you refusing to let me in the house, much less talk to you. Two years! Then you send for me like I'm one of your servants! I am defending my thesis at the end of the- JESUS!"

She had walked behind an ornate room divider to see her father's bed. He was so gaunt that he was unrecognizable. Her mouth opened and closed several times rapidly and in other circumstances would've looked quite comical. He pointed with a skeletal hand to a bedside chair.

"I am sorry. I tried to postpone, but it seems that everything is booked up," he rasped through his oxygen mask. She only nodded in answer.

"Your mother…" he turned to look at a photo of her on his bedside table. "You look so much like her now, as she was when we met." She blinked rapidly, never having heard him speak about her mother and she held back her questions.

"She died here in this bed- as will I; I won't permit them to move me. I know what my enemies think of me, my employees, servants, rivals… and my daughter." She looked down in shame. "Look at me. Your eyes… are hers. I know what you all think of me. I am: vicious, insufferable, a tyrant."

"I want you to promise me something…" she nodded slowly. "One day visit the Taj Mahal. It was built by Emperor Shah Jahan, who may be the only person in the history of the world who would understand me. He had it built as a tomb for his wife whom died in child birth. He spent what would equate to billions of dollars on it. He built it because he loved her so." Nicky blinked rapidly several times. "Only he understands the shear wealth and power at my disposal and to be helpless to save my true love. As she lay here bleeding I would have given anything, paid any amount, done anything. I would have traded my life for hers, or sold my soul. I could do nothing," he clenched his skeletal hand in anger.

Nicky opened her mouth, but he held up his hand, "Sorry… No time… Her last words to me…" he had a moment of difficultly breathing. "She said 'I have given you the greatest gift a woman can give to a man…' Her words were a lie, as were my last words to her. I lied to her and she was gone." Nicky looked scandalized but he nodded, "She lied. You were not a gift given to me, but to the world. You are too young to understand just how special you are, how so very rare. All I did was to polish you to a high shine, wrap you in the finest paper, and tie it with the prettiest bow. When a Lindbergh gives a gift, we give the very best." He gave her a curt nod.

He took a moment to regroup before asking, "I understand you expressed a desire to join the CIA?"

She furrowed her brow at his intelligence gathering, "They said at eighteen I'm too young…"

"They reconsidered…" he pointed to a letter on the bedside table. He waved a hand at the look of objection on her face, "I didn't bribe them or pull strings- despite being a master puppeteer. I sent a letter asking for an explanation as to your deficiency other than age, as that is age discrimination."

She read the letter quickly, "I'm not positive I want to, but thank you…"

He nodded, "It is your choice now."

"My last words to your mother…" she looked up from the letter eagerly, "I swore to her that I would never love another woman; I lied…" he smiled at her and swallowed with difficulty.

"I know. I've always known."

"There," he pointed to a syringe on the table. "Would you be okay with assisting me?"

She nodded slowly. She injected the needle into his IV bag and turned the heart machine off. She leaned close and whispered to him as she looked into his eyes.

 

When the blackness ebbed this time, the view was very different in that he could see the entire room and everything was crisp and defined. He had really been here. He was in the CIA building in New York where he had confronted Hirsch. Not only was it the building but he was sure it was the same floor.

She was sitting patiently waiting, her long coat and scarf over the back of the chair. She was sitting facing the door and away from the one way mirror on the far wall. She still had her winter gloves on, further illustrating to Bourne that this wasn't a birthday memory; her birthday wasn't in the winter.

She sat patiently waiting and Bourne knew that she had been there a very long time; they were waiting her out, hoping that she would leave. Most likely Conklin or Daniels took one look at her and scratched her off the list. Not only did she not leave, but she didn't move at all. She didn't once look at her watch or the clock. Finally at fifteen until five Conklin finally came in, having to either deal with her, or wait there all night until she left.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

Nicky gave a curt nod of haughty derision worthy of royalty. He stared at her with his best icy glare, which was a warm as a summer day compared to her fathers. She rose and shook his hand. She raised an eyebrow and motioned to a chair, "Please have a seat…"

"Ah…" he was flipping through the folder busily.

"…almost twenty."

"Excuse me?"

"I turn twenty in March. That is what you are search for, is it not?"

"Yes, yes it was."

"I'm assuming since you don't already know that; you weren't my original interviewer. Someone else put me off all day and either dumped my file on you, or they snuck out- leaving me here for you to deal with."

He raised an eyebrow, "…keep going."

"You're married, you have more than the allotted 2.3 children, the majority of them are girls- including the oldest. You went to a community college, or smaller school then transferred. You originally weren't going to join the military, but did anyway. Most likely due to your first child. You joined military intelligence and liked the work but hated the military in general. You got out as soon as possible and joined the CIA. You usually drink around four cups of coffee a day- one every two hours. You use to have one after dinner too and although it improves your sex drive, it keeps you up nights. You use to smoke but quit in the last year. You cheated on your wife with one women," he started to open his mouth in anger but she kept talking, "…you will deny it to your dying day. It was over twenty years ago and you have always regretted it; even during the act itself. Both of your parents died young leaving you to raise younger… brothers. You have been passed over for promotion the last two times- at the very least and claim you like your job, but everyone knows you hate it. Your car is around ten years old, but you knew you were going to have it a long time when you bought it, so you bought to last and didn't skimp on extras; it's most likely an import… it's not a Volvo but you're looking at buying one of those now. Currently it's maybe a Honda Accord or Toyota Camry. Should I continue?"

He nodded, "Want to explain how you know some of that…"

"Sure. When you came in you almost laughed at me since I am almost the same age as your eldest daughter; then you were stunned at the realization that your little girl was all grown up. I bet you can't fathom that she's already had sex. You're in a position to have nicer things than what you're wearing, but it will cost one million dollars to raise four children over a twenty year period which is where all your money goes. People in the CIA usually have military intelligence backgrounds and the way you turn reeks of military training. The cheating on the wife is a lucky guess, long deployments to war zones are stressful, you are generally a forth right man of Catholic upbringing which is the source of the guilt- and all the kids. A family man in the intelligence business knows that he'll be away a lot and a sound running car will save a lot of money in the long run and the more bells and whistles it has the less inclined your wife will be to ask for a new one. Your eldest daughter is starting to drive more and you don't want her to break down somewhere, so you are in the market for a new safe car. Your teeth are stained from the coffee and you have an old coffee stain on your shirt, meaning either it's laundry day or most of them are stained. You don't seem like you're clumsy so that means you're rolling the dice a lot on the spill chart, you're not half asleep now so I assume you've had one in the last hour- meaning you spread them out. Your fingers are still nicotine stained but you don't stink of cigarettes. The only reason you are in this room is because you drew the short straw; you're batting clean up- casting out the rejects. The brown-nosers left first, then the new people and losers. You're the lowest ranked senior member so you are working graveyard. You were laughed at by your peers, and there is probably a betting pool as to if you're going to make me cry. I estimate from your body language that I'm about 90% correct and that you are already thinking about being the one laughing tomorrow. You're not thinking it yet, but on the way home you will be thinking you just hit the mother load and that I might be able to revitalize your career."

"Is that it?"

She raised both eyebrows, "You’re also praying to God that I don't talk this much normally."

He laughed heartily at that and slapped the table, clearly enamored with her.

"I assure you that I am very quiet normally, unless you keep me waiting for eight hours."

He held up his hands in mock surrender, "I can assure you that won't happen again…" he chuckled. “That’s the kind of talent I’m looking for. The assets you’ll be evaluating are smart enough to answer our questions the ‘correct’ way. I need someone who can read people. Your visual observations will mean more to me than anything they say.” He started flipping through her file, "Constance was your given name?"

"I'm sorry sir, you must have the wrong file…"

He smiled at his little test, her last job had provided her with a cover ID and she was sticking to it. "The reports from your current boss are five star, everything in here is five star. He's a buddy of mine, I called him to ask about you; he offered me a bottle of Johny Walker Blue Label to not hire you. There is something in here that will exclude you though… Your page for sexual partners and close friends is blank."

"I don't have any of either."

"None?"

She glared at him, "None living. Is that an issue?"

"Well list the dead ones with the DOD. You’ll need to lie or make some living ones too. It won't pass the level of security check that you're going to go through."

"Find some? Lie? Seriously? Lie on a background check for Top Secret clearance?"

"Yes. Or, think harder about who you might be able to list."

"Will do."

"Don't be mistaken though, I actually prefer that page to be blank. My people are to remain unattached. No 'going steady', pregnancies, friends or family visiting from out of town…"

"That won't be a problem. As I said, I don't have any."

"It says here that the shooting you were involved in…" she squirmed slightly, for the first time all day she was rattled. "It says you were making tea and scones when the police got there?!"

"Sc-ons not sc-owns. No. I don't bake, but they were served. Why?"

"Any remorse for the person you shot?"

She looked at him for a long time, "No."

"I was sure you were going to lie."

She simply stared at him for a long moment, "Well, its been a long day. Was there anything else sir?"

"You would be stationed in Europe, someplace central. Any preferences?"

"Paris. I want Paris," she said without hesitation.

He nodded, "I was actually going to suggest Paris, my best man is located there."

Her eyes narrowed, "So, he can watch me?"

"Yes, but not the way you mean. Some of the assets are… quirky. It will be best to have him nearby during the first few meetings with them all, after that you'll know which ones make you uncomfortable, in case you want him close by. You have no moral qualms about having to kill someone?"

"No."

"If an asset is acting in a sexually aggressive manner…"

She nodded, "I should act like I am enjoying it and go with it. Chances are it will kill their mood."

He smiled gently and nodded, "They are predators, if you act like prey they will treat you like it. If you act normal they might get board and leave. We haven't had issues like that, but I feel like that should be disclosed."

"Understood."

"You can expect a call from HR. When they negotiate your salary bump- name your own price; I have a broad operational budget at the moment. Just remember, you will be expected to eat whatever you put on your plate. If you ask for the moon, I'm going to expect you to be an astronaut."

She nodded curtly.

 

Bourne heard coughing and screaming as consciousness flooded back to him.


	13. Smoke and Mirrors

Consciousness came back to Bourne slowly and for a moment he thought he was dead because he couldn't move; he feared he was paralyzed. He heard movement, screaming, glass breaking, car alarms, an engine revving, tires screeching to a halt, car doors slamming.

The sound of the car made his adrenalin rush; his mind identified it as a hit team coming to finished them off. His lungs and eyes were burning. He felt hot fluid running down his face and dripping off his nose and knew it was blood. The oddest sensation was something cold on his neck, it was the size of a grape. He felt it move and heard murmuring, he realized it was pressing against his jugular and he knew it was Nicky's one exposed thumb. She checking for a pulse as she struggled under him.

He heard people screaming in pain and felt someone trying to lift something off of him as he heard a far off voice yell, "Sound off: Kirill…"

"Carrasco…" he heard Paz call from near the Russian.

"Tyler…"… Byers ex-wife, the pilot.

"Shearing…" Marta choked between furious coughs.

"Cross…" he heard called from above him.

He yelled, "Webb…"

Nicky rasped, "Bourne…" and her couldn't tell if she was correcting him, or begging him to move.

"Bourne," he corrected followed by, "Parsons…"

Cross cleared the debris from his back and Bourne managed, "Car! Finishing us off!"

"No, it's Kirill and Carassco creating a barricade- circling the wagons. They have rifles…"

"Rear?!" he rasped.

"Right," he heard Cross running through glass.

He rolled off Nicky who quickly said, "Don't open your eyes Jason, there's glass all over your face. Here," he felt something against his stomach. "It's water, I can't open it." He opened the bottle and tried to rinse his face off. "Stay here! Take your time, you're no good to us blind. I see a body near us, I need to check it. Some others didn't sound off- I'll be back…"

He nodded even though he knew she was already gone to do triage, the doctor in her was taking over. A moment later he heard her yell, "I found Reina- she's got a pulse. Who is mortally injured!"

He heard a woman say, "This guys legs are pinned; I think they're broken…" Someone else yelled, "The bartender is bleeding… I… I… can't stop it."

Nicky screamed, "don't unpin that guys legs yet, not until Marta or I check him!"

Marta had laid on the ground looking stunned until she heard Nicky say her name and it spurred her into action. She had never imagined even being in a combat zone, much less full-blown triage.

Paige yelled, "Eric! Malana! Allen! Ashley! Khanh!…"

Reina rasped weakly, having come around, "Allen was going to the bathroom…"

Bourne knew he was the only one close enough to Reina to hear her. He tested his eyes and saw that visibility was reduced to five meters due to floating debris not unlike the Trade Center collapse. He yelled, "Ashley and Khanh were outside. Allen was in the bathroom."

Bourne saw Reina struggling to sit up and helped her rinse her eyes. "Are you injured?"

"I… I… think I'm bleeding a lot…"

"Where?"

"Legs…"

He felt that her jeans were soaked, but he knew it wasn't blood by the viscosity. "It's not blood. Your good…"

"But… Awe hell, did I piss myself?!" her Australian accent was asserting itself with a vengeance.

"No, I think it's beer," he said kindly even though he knew she was right.

"Yeah, sure, we'll go with that." She clearly sounded out of sorts, he helped her out of the building and sat hurt behind one of the cars; the structure was less than stable.

He then stumbled down what was left of the hallway to where the bathrooms were. It finally registered that the power was out and that he was seeing by moonlight; the roof was gone. He saw a flash of light and saw a tall figure with a mini-Maglite.

"Wow, you guys really blew the roof off the joint! Tornado?" Allen Goens' light finally fell on Bourne and he saw the blood all over his face and hands, "JESUS!"

"Bomb. People are dead; not a time for jokes."

He rocked backwards as if struck, "No…" thinking the blood on his hands was his daughters.

"I don't know. I saw her outside when it hit…" and Goens pushed passed him. "Was there anyone in there with you?!"

"No!"

Bourne went in the other bathroom, which was missing a wall as well as the roof. His foot kicked something in the dark and it spun away from him and he knew instantly it was a head. He steeled himself and grabbed it and cleared the hair out of the face and moved it to the light; it was Malana. The little cat burglar was dead.

He turned and left it as he tried to ignore the realization that even though he only knew her for a day, he knew her as well as anyone except Marie. He had spent twelve hours sitting next to her and knew more about her than Nicky. In the past four years he had only spent that much time with three people, now two were gone.

As he stumbled back down the hall he heard Nicky scream, "whoever has that light bring it here- I need it!"

"But, my daughter!"

"Bourne! Kill him and bring me his light!"

"Okay, okay!"

Bourne followed the light to find Nicky. "What do you need Parsons?"

"Sugar, cloth, more light…"

It took him a second to register sugar as a coagulant, long-term it also accelerated healing. He stripped off his jacket, gave her both of his shirts and put his jacket back on. Allen did the same. "Allen stay here and help her. I saw Ashley last; I'll go look…"

He nodded.

Bourne made his way to the front and saw that the entire front of the bar was gone. He saw that three cars had been pulled up in a semi-circle guarding the door with Paz and Kirill ducked behind them holding rifles.

"Looks clear Bourne," Paz said without prompt.

"Who's that?" he asked pointing to a body with a jacket over it.

"Khanh Nazari- the guy from SEAL team six."

Bourne fought back a flood of emotion, "You check him?"

"Didn't need to; he was almost cut in half by a street sign."

"Ashley?"

Paz pointed to a car. He went and looked in and saw that she was shaking like a dog in a thunderstorm. "I…I…can't…stop… can't… stop…"

"Don't try to; makes it worse. Slow breaths. Your dad's fine; he's telling bad jokes already. You okay?" She nodded. "Stay down and pop the trunk…"

Bourne looked in the trunk and got some mini-maglites that where equipped to go under their rifles, a fire extinguisher, and a first aid kit.

They were all in crisis mode for a few minutes until everyone was out of the building. They knew several people were dead, including some civilians. Ashley heard crying and peered out of the car window. "Paige! Eric wasn't in there… I took him to the hotel."

"Oh, thank God…"

"Huh? You guys don't know? That's were the blast came from; our hotel, it's gone." Everyone looked at the now empty skyline where their twelve story hotel had been.

Kirill muttered, "So, they bombed us?"

Paige's whole body tensed, "Oh, damn…" and she ran for one of the cars.

Cross yelled, "Wait, wait… I'm driving."

"Huh… what? Bourne?" Allen asked.

"She realized she may want to check on her bomber."

"Ah…"

Marta and Nicky accompanied the seriously wounded, in a hot-wired pickup, to the hospital. Kirill and Paz went with them, while Bourne and the others looked for someplace to hold up that was off the grid.

He found an old hotel that went out of business a month ago; it was away from the main drag. He broke into the office for the room keys and hung up a 'under new management' sign in the office window, while Goens manually turned the electric and water on.

Ashley and Reina checked the rooms and tried to find clean linens. "I don't understand what we're doing here," Ashley moaned.

Reina fought huffing in frustration, "Not everyone has your swapped x-gene or whatever. We need sleep. Some of these people have been awake for thirty hours or more and are delirious. We need to crash and then we'll move tomorrow."

Ashley's voice broke, "Th-that hotel was full; it's Thanksgiving weekend. All those people…"

"American holiday… I wondered why the airports were so busy; try not to think about it. It could have nothing to do with us…"

Ashley frowned at the other woman, knowing full well that they were almost certainly the targets.

The event was all over the news and speculation was rampant. They had all gathered in one room. Shearing and Paz were stitching up people's lacerations. Shearing stitched up the back of Bourne's head and he very quickly had enough of the news and was looking for an exit strategy. He nodded to Nicky's hands, "You need to change those bandages…"

"Oh, yeah… I guess…"

Ashley volunteered, "You want me to do it?"

"No, thanks though. I need to talk to Jason anyway- in private."

Bourne said as he left, "Everyone pair off with an asset in every room, just to be safe. If you do a look-out, put me last."

He looked at the keys for the selected rooms and took the one with the highest number, which was the farthest away. They stopped at the car on the way and got their backpacks; they never went anywhere without them. They slipped into the room; both feeling apprehensive about the extremely intimate moment that was coming.

"You haven't seen them yet have you; your hands?" he asked gently.

She shook her head no and was fighting back tears. "I need to shower first. We have glass all over us." She turned her back slightly to him in a silent request. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra through her shirt, unzipped her skirt, and unbuttoned her blouse.

"I'm going to go see if we have ice yet and look for some cokes to go with the bottle of rum you stole."

"Oh- okay…" she stammered, clearly hoping he would join her in the shower.

He gave her a generous amount of time before returning.

She was sitting on the bed: with wet hair, wearing her NAVY nightshirt, and watching the news with the sound off.

"You ready to change those now?"

She made a reluctant pouting face, knowing she couldn't stall anymore.

"Okay, well… I'll do it as slowly as I can…" He gently unwrapped her 'good' right hand first and then her left. "They did good work." He looked up and saw her eyes were closed. "You have to look. You know that. The longer you wait-"

"- the harder it will be to cope. I know, but I can't…"

He cupped her head in his hand and lifted her face so it was even with his. "Nicky you have to look at it."

She shook her head no again and squeezed her eyes shut tighter, "Please just wrap them up. Please…"

With great authority in his voice he barked, "Constance." Her eyes shot open and a tear jetted down each cheek. Her mouth fell open, her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes flitted all over his face in search of recognition. He wiped her tears away and then placed his thumb in the middle of her forehead and gently rubbed it to her temple. "Please, for me…"

She clenched her jaw and nodded. She slowly lowered her head and he did too, so that their foreheads were resting against each other. He heard her start to make mewing noises and she started sobbing in earnest. He said gently, "That's enough. You want me to wrap them back up?"

She nodded eagerly. He was done with the left and almost done with the right before she stopped sobbing and he helped her blow her nose. She blinked rapidly and he avoided her eyes as he wrapped, "You remember?"

"No." His voice came off far flatter than he had intended. "I had a flashback of you when I was searching for you though. Today when I was knocked out I dreamed about you; about your past. I think I read you file at some point. A lot of it was really personal though. Maybe I read your diary or something…"

She hiccuped, "What was the flashback of? If it's okay to ask…"

He laughed, "Well you were in it, so it's nothing you don't already know. We were painting a wall and were bickering about the Yankees versus the Mets and you told me not to forget about the restraining order?"

She was smiling until he got to the last two words, "Oh… and after that?"

"Nothing. You really had a restraining order against me?"

"No, I was just joking around." With anyone else he would have believed them, but he knew she was playing semantics.

"Conklin ordered me to stay away from you?"

"No…" this time her denial had a 'hot or cold' sound to it despite her best effort to sound casual.

"You keep asking me to trust you, but you won't answer basic questions."

"Okay. Ask me about something else; anything else…"

He was tempted to go into hostile territory, but thought a less aggressive approach would reveal more in the long run. "Tell me about how we first met…"

"Oh, okay…" she was clearly stunned by the normality of the question. "Now, I warned you about this before- it's better to remember on your own; you'll be hearing my perspective which maybe totally different from yours." He nodded. "Okay, I just don't want you to be mad if you remember later and think I'm lying or something."

He nodded eagerly.

She took great care in describing the scene from an objective point of view while he made her a drink.

—

Paris France

1999

Jason Bourne's car was half a block down from the address of the new safe house. He saw the girl come out of the coffee shoppe next to him and paid her no mind. He knew she was wealthy and American from her clothing, but she wasn't a threat; most likely a model. He saw her try the coffee and look at it with disdain and with good reason, the owner hated Americans and Bourne was all but certain he used dishwater for their coffee.

She walked down the block and suddenly her high heel broke and she fell in front of the safe house. She spilled half the coffee on her hand and quickly stuck it in the snow bank. She then gathered her things, went up the steps and unlocked the door.

Bourne appeared completely confused as he double checked the address, both on the scrap of paper and the building. He knew it was right though; he picked the location. He looked around, walked to the door, and knocked.

She opened the door and she looked even younger than he had thought, [I'm sorry. I must have the wrong address…] he said but didn't turn to leave.

[No, Mr. Bourne, you are in the right place… Please-]

His eyes bored into hers, "Don't move. Now take your finger off the trigger," this time she raised an eyebrow. "The gun you're holding behind the door- take your finger off the trigger."

"Umm, okay," she said nervously.

"Never put your gun behind the door," he scolded. "Here's why- in slow motion." He kicked the door slowly, but firmly. Her hand was pushed back towards the interior and away from the door, he took one quick step and grabbed her gun hand. "Now try holding it at your side with the slide just behind your leg. Have one foot planted and the other behind you- ready to step back as I step forward. Let's try it now…" she was able to raise the gun in time. "See- better."

He pushed his way through the doorway and looked around at the moving boxes, some of which were on the desk. "You're not ready for my appointment."

"You're early," she snapped.

He picked up her shoes and tossed them in the bin, strode over to her, took the cup of coffee out of her hand, removed the lid, poured it down the drain, and tossed it as well. She didn't make a sound and he thought that she was going to be looking on in disbelief, but when he turned around her face was nearly expressionless but her eyes seemed to say, 'is that it?'

He went to the door, opened it, and a gale from the snow storm sucked it closed after him. She knew better than to say anything out loud, but was screaming on the inside, 'Fucking asshole!'

She slammed things around while clearing the desk off and busily started unpacking. Later she heard the buzzer ring for the magnetic lock again. She looked at the security camera, it was… Bourne again. "Great."

She got the gun and stood as he instructed her when she opened the door. He had clearly walked in the snow for some distance, he had a box under one arm and a bag in the other. He said flatly, "It's now nine o'clock." She glanced at her watch and saw it was exactly nine. He saw her watch, "You're a pilot."

She didn't respond, just ushered him in. He handed her the box, "here." He opened the bag and took out two coffees. "The place down the block is horrible. Try that…"

She sipped it and nodded, "It's very good…" she said as she opened the box and found a pair of cute shoes, thigh highs, socks, and slippers. "Wow, they are adorable! These are custom-made Louboutin's. These cost three thousand dollars. I can't take these...”

"Yeah, custom-made for someone else. They were marked down."

"Yeah, I tried them on yesterday. They were in the window..."

"Yeah the guy remembered you. I told him you were a very good customer and that he'd be seeing you a lot."

"But, I can't take these..."

He shrugged, "They are a house warming gift. I always give the best. Besides, you already did take them. Did Conklin warn you about upsetting us?" She nodded. "All I expect is for you to say 'thank you."

She nodded curtly and tried them on, "The other things?"

"You have a run in your hose and the gas company takes their sweet time here; usually it's a three-day wait."

"Oh, wow. Okay… That's very thoughtful of you…" she said, still seeing that his face was made of stone.

"You are never to be ill prepared or late for an appointment again; it makes us nervous. I have been tasked to be at your beck and call for the next two months. If you need me, if something feels wrong, if you're afraid- anything: call this number, program it as AAA so it's at the top of the list and inconspicuous. If you are certain there is a physical threat: you see someone following you, see someone in the house, you hear something, or any sort of crime is committed against you- then you do not think, you do not hesitate, you press this button." He handed an ornate golden locket. "It's welded shut and the button is on the back. I tried to water proof it, but I wouldn't shower with it. You understand?"

She nodded reluctantly.

“You may think this is a vacation for me; it is not. I am trained to take lives, not protect them. I will be out of my element against the most deadly people in the world. Under normal circumstances I’m to listen to you without question. In the event of a hostile situation you are to listen to me without question. I tell you to run, you run. I tell you to hide, you hide. Is that clear?”

She nodded.

"From this moment forward- for the rest of your life, trust your intuition. Intuition evolved over millions of years to keep you alive; don’t ignore it. If you come home, put the key in the lock and something 'feels wrong', act like you forgot something in your car and go call. I expect two to three calls this week- minimum."

He turned on his heel to leave, "Wait… wait. I'm supposed to ask you questions."

"Yes, no, yes, yes, 4, yes, sometimes, no, yes, yes, twice a week."

"Wait," she was frantically trying to scribble it down. She looked up and he was gone. "Bourne?" She walked around the first floor and he was gone. She opened the door and heard the buzz of the lock and felt the blast of cold air. "BOURNE…? Okay, that's creepy with a capital K."

 

Three Nights Later

Nicky bolted upright from a deep sleep to the sound of something metal crashing downstairs. She hit the panic button without a second thought. Within three minutes Jason Bourne was on her balcony and opening her window. He was proud to see her still scantily clad, armed, and kneeling in the corner near the door. He figured her for the type that would grab a robe before a gun.

She tapped her ear, then held her arms out wide to indicate size, then pointed down. He motioned for her to stay and slid through the bedroom door. He returned two minutes later, "A box of cd's tipped over and fell onto a metal filing cabinet…"

"…but what tipped them over!"

"A rat I suppose… Paris is infested with them… Or, maybe the place really is haunted like the last tenant claimed," he laughed as her eyes bulged out of her head. "Boyfriends?" he said pointing at the over-sized NAVY shirt she was wearing.

"No, uh- yes."

He laughed and slipped out the window, "You were kidding about the rats right?" She looked down the fire escape but he was gone. "Bourne?!" she hissed. She looked up it, "Jason?" she whispered.

 

Three days later she was taking a late night shower and felt an icy draft. She left the shower running but slipped out and called Bourne. He picked up in two rings.

"Bourne."

"It's Parson's, I was in the shower and I felt a strong draft. I think someone opened the door," she hissed.

"Stay there. Keep the shower going. Don't do anything. I was already coming; you have a breach."

"Jesus…"

"Sit the phone down behind the toilet. I hope you have your gun. Whatever you do don't leave the room!"

Time drug on for what seemed like forever. Suddenly something hit the door hard at head level and she almost fired through the door out of reflex, but was proud that she didn't cry out.

She heard a struggle outside the door. She flung it open and watched in stunned disbelief as Bourne fought what could only be described as a battle for the ages. She watched him exchanging blows with a man dressed in all black including a ski-mask. It drug on for minutes and she watched in wonder as Bourne beat on the man with innocuous objects. The man pulled a knife and Bourne grabbed her violin from the top of her dresser.

"Stradivarius!" she shrieked out of reflex.

He did a double take and tossed it onto her bed instead of clubbing the man with it.

"Should I shoot him?!" she asked.

Both heads jerk up and Bourne laughed, "No, I'm just toying with him. I need the practice." She watched as they exchanged blows in a blur of motion. Bourne struck him behind the knee, distended his elbow, then arm-barred him.

Nicky reached out and pulled his mask off, "Gee willikers Shaggy! It's the lighthouse keeper!"

"Who are you?" Bourne cranked down on his arm hard, "I'm not going to ask you again…"

Nicky studied his bruised face, "He's 'Rome'."

"Figures. Conklin said you'd be by. How many?" he asked him.

"Four…" he man groaned.

He cranked down again, "How many?"

"Five… Five!"

"Thank you for your cooperation. Parsons, go stand by the window for a minute, but not in front of it."

"Why?"

"Because the people on the street will see up your towel," he laughed. Then he glared at her, "I wasn't asking." She locked her jaw and stamped over the window, out of ear shot. "Conklin said to give you a message. He said the girl is mine; she belongs to me. He said if you ever touch my property that I should make an example of you. You ever touch her- even to shake her hand and I'll castrate you. If you ever come after me and I'll take your eyes too; I'll make you a blind Eunuch. Nod if your primate brain understand that," he nodded.

"You have sixty seconds to run before I come after you and I'm not stopping till you're out of France." He released him and kicked toward the bedroom door. "Go."

He took off out the door and Bourne followed him and locked it. When he went upstairs he saw her come on of the walk-in closet having gotten dressed in the Navy shirt she usually wore to bed, "hey, Parsons…"

"JESUS!" she snapped. "Stop doing that! I thought you followed him. I'm so getting a collar for you with a bell on it."

He laughed, "No. I don't need to follow him," he held up a device that looked like a GPS. "Here," he handed it to her. "Watch that. Make sure he leaves Paris," he said looking around at everything.

"So, on your way to rescue me, you stopped to bug his car?"

"No, I bugged him last week as soon as I found out that our new handler was a woman." He took down her fire alarm and handed it to her, "hold that."

"Is this 'one of five'?"

He nodded.

"Five what?"

He pointed to a dot on it. "That's a wireless web-cam and transmitter."

"That creep!" she fumed as she crossed her arms as if cold.

He laughed, "Well I think that was a bonus: that you're a beautiful woman. He was bugging it for intel."

"Intel? But, he is one of ours! Right? You let him go…"

He laughed, "Wow, you're green. One day you're probably going to be sending one of us to kill him; he'd rather have advanced warning. He would also benefit from any information he gathered on us; it would be invaluable. Anything on you he could use to…" he broke off.

"…seduce me."

"Yes, but more than sex. Control. Brainwashing would be the goal."

She sighed, "So, I guess I asked for too much money?"

"Huh?"

"Conklin said about naming my price, 'Just remember, you will be expected to eat whatever you put on your plate. If you ask for the moon, I'm going to expect you to be an astronaut.' I guess I asked too much: if my body has become your property."

He paused from taking a device from behind a light plate, "You heard that?"

"That I'm your whore, gimp, blowup doll, or whatever? No, I didn't hear it; I learned to read lips in school as a point of survival."

"Not well liked?"

Her eyes narrowed to slits, "Being branded a sex slave is a difficult topic to change the subject on."

"Look. With that guy I would just go with it. That Alpha male crap is the only thing animals like him understand."

"Did Conklin actually say that though?"

"No," he said flatly.

She nodded and started to walk away, "Wait! Did it 'go unsaid' or did you request a plaything?!"

He laughed, "No, but I think he either intended it, or was trying to do the opposite. You weren't selected without forethought on the matter, that's for sure."

"I don't follow…"

"You really don't know how to play people?"

"No," she said bashfully. "I really don't like people."

"A shrink that hates people- WOW. Okay, that is a whole different bag of worms. I think either he picked you thinking we'd: never get together in a million years, or that he thought opposites attract and we'd be lightning in a bottle. You're too far away from 'my type'. You're a Veronica- I like Bettys. Out of like a hundred things on a list of likes you're the exact opposite."

"Like…?"

"Are we 'in the nest' doctor?" She gave him the finger, "I like dark hair and light eyes, you have light hair and dark eyes. I'm a chest guy-" her eyes narrowed immediately, "…you're a leg girl. Simple vs sophisticated. Jovial vs stern. Farm girl vs City girl. Poor vs Rich. Modest vs…"

"Okay… okay!" she snapped.

He held a hand up, "I'm not saying you're not top notch… Look at it this way… You're a world record-setting swordfish; you are a total catch, something you see once in a lifetime. I would be proud to claim you, show you off to my friends, brag about you, and stare at you all day long. I'd put you on the wall in a heartbeat."

"Nice save Boy Scout, you were totally going to say you'd 'mount me'."

He laughed but didn't deny it, "But, if I'm going to the fish market, I'd buy fresh water bass from Alaska, because I generally like the taste more. For what you are you're the absolute best…"

She blinked three times, "Wh-what?"

"You're the best there is. I could look my whole life and be hard pressed to find better. Some guy- err… or girl, is going to be very lucky one day. I just think it's odd that you're such a drastic polar opposite…"

"W-well, thank you. You seem to know a lot about me."

He shrugged, "You're thirty years younger than I was expecting and Conklin was bragging up a storm about you. He isn't easily impressed. I trust his judgment implicitly."

"He'd win either way."

"Huh?"

"If we hate each other he wouldn't have to deal with us being in the same place. If we do click then he has control over you, but we'd be different enough to not be totally invasive- a distraction to each other. I'd be the carrot on the stick…"

"See! Now you're thinking right. What about me?"

"Huh…?"

"Am I that to you too? What do you look for in a guy?"

"I… well. I don't know…" she shuffled nervously.

"Do you prefer: little guys that are PETA members, wear sweater vests, drink tea with their pinkie out, read poetry, and take part in the gentlemanly game of snooker?"

He looked up from searching under her desk and saw that she looked totally rattled. "Hey, it's okay. I didn't mean to freak you out."

"I guess you're my type. I don't know. You're a lot like the guy I liked the most. He was a Naval SEAL and had blue eyes. I got that shirt from him…"

"I was on the teams. What's his name, I might know him!"

"No! That's okay. I never really told him I liked him that way."

He shrugged, "Whatever."

"Why are you searching for the bugs. Why didn't you get him to just tell you, or use a locater or something?"

"Because: It's good practice, I'm showing you where to look, and frankly I'm enjoying the banter."

She gave a huge fake smile, "So, if I tell you off will this go faster."

"No."

"Swell."

He followed her up a spiral staircase to a third floor loft that used to be part of the attic. She planned on using as a reading area and for her violin playing. He couldn't help but look up and notice her apparel, "So, you always wear underoos?"

She glared at him in such anger that he was glad she wasn't still armed. "…and you should have interest in my choice of undergarments because…"

"Well, now that I've seen you in them, how can I not wonder who's the hero of the day every time I see you?"

"Uh huh. Well why don't you worry about playing hero yourself-"

"If I'm good enough at it, do get featured in the spring line?"

"No… masked heroes only. Faces on underwear are just creepy- maybe bedsheets and lunch boxes."

He was searching around the outside of the bay window for bugs and laughed, "You have a view of the Eiffel Tower from here…"

"No I don't…"

"Here… you have to lean all the way out."

"I'll fall, you're taller."

"I got you. Lean all the way out, then look above the white satellite dish."

"Oh yeah! The tip of the antenna… how romantic," she said sarcastically.

 

Back in the present:

"So, that's how we first met…" she concluded.

"Wait- What? That's it?! It can't end there! How come I feel like the film reel just broke?"

She smiled coyly behind her glass as she took a sip of her drink.

 


	14. The Broken Reel  (Rated MA)

 

He was searching around the bay window for bugs and laughed, “You have a view of the Eiffel Tower from here…”

“No I don’t…”

“Here… you have to lean all the way out.”

“I’ll fall, you’re taller.”

“I got you. Lean all the way out, then look above the white satellite dish.”

“Wow, you’re right! I can see one inch of the lightning rod,” he had been holding her around the waist; she leaned back in and felt him pressed up against her whole body like a glove. “How romantic…” She had fully intended the words to be sarcastic, but when spoken as she looked over her shoulder at him, they sounded entirely different.

He felt the warmth of her breath as she stared into his eyes, then he saw her eyes flit down to stare at his lips. He knew that meant she was thinking about being kissed. Her whole body seemed to gravitate toward his lips and he bowed his head an inch to meet her the rest of the way. She kissed him slowly; he wasn’t surprised that her tongue had a pointed tip which was supposed to reflect a rigid physical condition and an aggressive or even offensive mentality.

She reached back with one hand rubbed the back of his neck, then grabbed his belt with the other, and pulled him more tightly to her. She felt him yank her underwear down and she managed to free one foot from them. She moved forward to put her knees on the window seat and a hand on each side of the window. She felt him nudge her feet with his knees and she spread her legs. “Farther- as far as possible.” She did as he instructed and she waited to hear the sounds of his belt, but it didn’t come.

He knelt quickly behind her, ran his arms between her legs, reached around her torso, grabbed the small of her back, and exhaled deeply across her exposed flesh. He inhaled deeply, drawing the cold Parisian air over her, and then repeated it while he kneaded her back with iron hands. He marveled at the smell of her skin, it was an odd cross between vanilla and chocolate- she smelled like cookies! She must have showered just before bed and used some sort of product to get the smell. He guiltily felt his stomach rumble- he had missed dinner.

As she felt him inhaling and exhaling across her… her… “Fuck…” she sighed. The area between her anus and vagina… what the hell was the name she thought, as the doctor in her tried to retain the ability for intellectual thought… the Perineum! She knew she was already wet and suddenly she grew very self conscious, thinking something was wrong and started running down a check list in her head. She thought he growled for a moment, like a caged beast and then realized it was his stomach. Something clicked and she sniffed her arm; she had used vanilla bath salts and chocolate body scrub tonight. She giggled girlishly, never having expected anyone but her to smell it. “Sounds like someone’s-” and he plunged his tongue into her, “-hu…ng…rrry…”

She tried to pull away and realized that she had nowhere to go except backwards: her legs were spread wide, arms were clutching the window to prevent a three story fall, and his arms tentacled around her body prevented upward motion. He yanked her back onto his tongue; she tried to adjust herself to prevent his nose from going places that she’d rather it not and lowered her front half slowly until her forehead was on the window seat. She realized too late that it just seemed to open herself further. He was more than skilled in cunnilingus, but she guiltily relished the back rub more. Her whole lower back was tight as a drawn bow from moving boxes and furniture all week. She was positive he knew it and was doing it as an added service.

He slowly worked her labia in a circular pattern, one rotation clockwise, then one counter; he was very careful to avoid her clitoris. She kept trying to adjust her body motion to include it but he merely built her small thrusting motions into his routine. “Jesus…” she breathed again and suddenly he removed his hands and face. “Please…” she purred expecting him to enter her, but he wasn’t doing anything of the sort. He sat on the ground, spun around and craned his neck backwards so she was virtually sitting on his face.

She self-consciously tried to move away but his strong arms kept her in place. “I’m going to hurt you…” to which he laughed and tried to pull her down to him. “You’ll suffocate…”

“I can hold my breath for over six minutes…”

“In water! It’s halved on lan-”

He suddenly took her clitoris in his mouth, trapping it between his lip and tongue. He reached up and as if he had know her body for years and lightly brushed her nipples without touching her breasts.

She shuddered as she tried to pull away. His fingers on one hand found her and entered her as the other rubbed her breast, his thumb working her nipple. She clutched the windowsill so hard that she wondered if her nails were leaving furrow marks on it. Suddenly he stopped and retracted his head and other extremities. She waited for him to grab her around the waist, but he did nothing of the sort. He reached around her, took one of her hands and turned her. He lifted her from under her arms and she wrapped her legs around him as her carried her to the desk.

He paused abruptly having realized that she was avoiding touching him with her hands, “What?”

“You have to be forceful… They told me that they were going to ask me on my next polygraph if I willingly initiated sexual contact. You have to be aggressive with me; then I’ve been ordered to go with it- to keep from getting hurt,” she panted in his ear.

He reared his head back, looked at her, turned and walked into her kitchen.

She watched him go and quickly looked all around her, as though she were on Candid Camera, “Is this really happening?” she whispered. “Bourne?!? OH!!! I get it…” she smiled gleefully as she retrieved her panties and returned them to there full upright position.

She crept to the corner and peered around it suspiciously, “Okay… I’ll play.” She ignored the impulse to start outright searching the house for him and proceeded to perform a litany of tasks where she employed grossly over sexualized poses.

She swept the floor in the kitchen and used the dustpan by bending over fully without bending her knees as she shifted unnecessarily from one hip to the other until even the smallest bit of frust was gone. She ate a banana in an entirely inappropriate manner. She flipped through a magazine while laying face down, naked, on the bed. She examined her body in a full length mirror from every lurid pose imaginable, some unknown to even Erin Andrews. She tried on her sexiest clothing; which sadly was the only part of her wardrobe which could be considered neglected.

She walked downstairs and sighed, “Bourne- this isn’t fun anymore?”

She frowned, “Shit! Did he really leave?” An idea suddenly dawned on her. “What a fucking asshole!” she fumed as she feinted anger and stormed up the stairs. “You cretin. He wasn’t the good anyway… It probably saved me a lot of time; who am I kidding- sixty seconds is more likely.”

She stripped as she got into bed, “Right Nicky, sure, throw away your vibrator- you wouldn’t want customs to find it: fucking idiot… I guess I’ll have to do this the old fashion way…” she cursed as she proceed to masturbate and moan at such an unnecessary volume that a man, in the next building over, screamed at her to shut up.

“Son of a bitch…” she cursed after awhile. “This really isn’t fun anymore… Bourne?!? Come get me now or never- I’m so over this!” There was nothing but silence. “I have a gun Bourne!” She groaned, “You’re kidding me… He left. He really left.”

She tried to fake being asleep, like a child staying up for Santa, but of course failed. She fell asleep with just a sheet and was freezing. She remembered shivering but not wanting to get up to: close the window, get dressed, or unpack a blanket.

She woke up the next morning and groaned. “Idiot…” She put a hand on each side of her aching pelvis, “Great… Women can get ‘blue balls’. I bet my ovaries are the size of plums… What a jerk!”

Suddenly she realized that she was warm. “Huh?” She looked down and saw that she was wrapped in an old quilt. It was faded, warm, and very soft. It was never something she would have purchased- ever. She sniffed it and it smelled like him. She saw a sunflower on the bedside table with a note that she snatched up, enraged.

 

 

Parsons-

You looked cold. “Looked cold?” I enjoyed the show. “What?” I took the rest of the cameras down. “SON OF A BITCH!” I’m really not there right now… Enjoy breakfast.

-Bourne

 

 

“Great! We aren’t even on a first name basis! Great, just great Nicky! Aaugh,” she screamed in frustration.

She stormed downstairs and saw a bag on the kitchen counter that obviously contained the breakfast he had left for her, “Fucking asshole!” Looking around she remembered that she hadn’t found a coffee pot yet; Conklin had their old safe-house packed up and shipped here. She knew the bag contained coffee, but she grabbed it and flung it in the trash without looking in it.

She stormed over to the bad coffee shop next door, placed her order, and barked at the barista, [Don’t give me that tourist swill again; I will come back there and cut you- bitch don’t fuck with my coffee!] The little man did a triple take and saw how angry she was and gave her it for free.

 

 

Back in the present:

Bourne had been laughing uncontrollably for several minutes, as he toweled his hair; he had showered as she spoke. She knew some of his laughter was him trying to deal with the days events.

She laughed, “Well I’m glad you’re amused. God, I was so pissed! So, that’s how we first met…” she concluded.

“You going to reenact your posing in the mirror?”

She blushed furiously, “Nope.”

“So, when did we get together?” he asked eagerly.

She smiled slyly behind her glass as she took a sip of her drink, “That wasn’t your question Mr. Bourne.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” he asked, clearly concerned.

“Enough…” she handed him the glass and he put it on the nightstand as she shifted on the bed so that they were both sitting. He brushed her hair behind her ear. They both knew they were filled with lust and apprehension. “Do you want this; I mean are you ready?”

He nodded and suddenly looked tormented, “Malana…” she raised an eyebrow. “She’s going to stay with me a long time. I sat next to her in a briefing for a day and she was one of the three people I’ve known the best in four years. How sad is that? Two of them are dead now…”

She nodded and placed her goodish hand on his cheek, “That’s normal- what you’re feeling…”

“…and Khanh Nazari…”

“I should have let you talk to him…”

He shook his head, “No, you were right. He was pissed.”

“I know what you’re going through. My entire life is like that. I can count the number of people that have ever loved me on one hand- either one!” she laughed.

He inched closer to her and he leaned his head onto hers and their noses brushed. “I can’t take anymore.” She opened her eyes and saw tears running down his cheeks. “The killing. The death. The constant running. I feel like I’m going to implode. If anything happens to you…”

“I know. I promise- no more secrets. I should tell you everything… In case something does happen to me.”

He sighed in utter sorrow, “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Shhh…” she cooed as their lips touched and they kissed gently at first, but it quickly turned frantic. She clawed at his undershirt which he pulled off for her and then followed suit with hers as they moved backwards on the bed. She slid her underwear off as she went and he followed suit.

She half pulled him up her body and when he made to stop halfway up. She spurred him onward, “Please… I don’t need that. Trust me, with our luck someone will come barging in here in about five minutes.”

In answer, he moved up her body, giving her goosebumps on the way. He reached over to get his backpack and unzipped it. She tugged on his arm, smiled mischievously, took his bottom lip in her mouth, and bit it gently. His resolve for safety crumbled as she gyrated her hips, nudging him politely.

“Are you going to remember this in the morning?” he breathed.

“God, I hope so.”

“I’m serious…”

She pulled away slightly, so she could see his face, “What if I don’t- aren’t you entitled a memory of us that I don’t share?” She blinked several times, her head clearing, “You changed your mind. It’s okay… It really is. Come on…” she nodded to the side for him to roll off of her.

Suddenly he surged forward and was in her and she seemed to exhale more air than she was capable of holding, “Oh God…”

She locked her feet behind his knees and wrapped both arms around him as tightly as she could; suddenly he felt as though he was just ensnarled by a huge carnivorous plant and he laughed at the thought. “Why do I feel like I wouldn’t be able to pry you off?”

She laughed too, “Hey, you had your chance to run buddy…” She spurred the back of his thighs as though he were a horse and he increased his speed. She kissed his neck and then licked around the edge of his ear before beginning to lustfully whisper in his ear.

At first he thought she was going to whisper romantic loving things, but the litany of perverse words and thoughts that poured out of her mouth caused him to recoil and look her in the eye. “You’re drunk…”

“Nope, if I was drunk I would want you to do this…” she leaned forward and whispered some more.

“I think I need to go to Home Depot for that…” to which she giggled. “Don’t hold anything back on my account… I like it furious!”

They pounded on each other with reckless abandon and as she had predicted her phone rang around fifteen minutes into it; his phone rang at the twenty minute mark. She was on top of him and he tried to reach it, “I swear to God Bourne; I will cut it off and keep it if you touch that. If it’s serious they’ll knock. I bet it’s just Ash… We’ve earned this!”

She pounded on him relentlessly and he was impressed by her stamina. Her arms weren’t toned so he assumed she wasn’t in good shape, but apparently she was a fan of running and sit-ups. He wondered if she didn’t work her arms on purpose, as a ruse. After several position changes, he felt himself drawing close. “Nicky we need to move, or change gears…”

“I’m more than satisfied- if you’re good?”

He nodded.

“How do you want to finish? The distinguished gentleman from Missouri has the floor…”

He held her tightly and rolled over on top of her and looked at her with such a profound since of longing that she blinked three times rapidly. He moved with infinitesimal slowness for several thrusts. He was drinking her in with his eyes she felt every muscle in his body start to tighten.

She watched as he gazed at her with such longing and desire that her mouth fell open as she realized that he was going to orgasm just by looking at her. She felt tears roll out of each eye and suddenly she felt her whole body constrict and she bore down and clenched him as tightly as she could feel his entire body relax and heat spread through her.

Her body finally relaxed and their eyes locked in post coital bliss. “Was it always like this?” he asked softly.

She laughed politely and smiled showing more teeth than he knew she had, “No,” she sighed. “This was special…” she whispered as she wiped the sweat from his cheek.

“Were we in love?”

Still locking eyes, she whispered, “No.” She continued with a halting voice, “I once loved David Webb so much that I would’ve jumped into a volcano if he asked me to.” He started to speak, but she held her one good finger to his lips, “Did he love me? I don’t know.” She smiled with great warmth, “He went to great extremes to prove that he didn’t, but that just proved to me how much he really did…” she kissed him gently.

“…restraining orders are just another way of saying ‘I love you’?”

She laughed so suddenly and with such force that she pushed him out of her, “Yeah. It wasn’t very healthy… I was a whole boat load of crazy for you. It was very difficult for me… with you…”

“…and Jason Bourne?”

“You’re different now. Just like your brother is different. As far as I’m concerned there are three of you. I’m bottling my emotions up and I’m keeping a firm stopper in that bottle this time, until you pull it out. Once the genie is out though, there is no putting it back.”

“Fair enough. He did you know… I know he did… How could he not?”

She looked absolutely twitterpated but before she could answer, there was a loud knock at the door. Jason rolled off of her, gun in hand and crept to the door.

 


	15. Crossed out

 

 

Aaron Cross tore down the interstate at a rate that even he deemed unsafe and Maj. Paige Tyler had been white knuckling it for more than a few miles.

“So, you think they took my plane?”

“No,” he said flatly as he drove on the shoulder causing her to cringe.

“So… are we trying to go ‘back in time’?”

He glared at her briefly before cutting back onto the road. “All of this is wrong. Everything about it. It’s all wrong…”

She threw her hands on the dash as he crossed into the oncoming lane, passed a car, and cut back to their lane seconds before hitting a car head on. “JESUS!”

“I rather be Moses right now…”

“Funny. I feel like I’m on a rocket sled. I knew I shouldn’t have let Eric talk me out of NASA…”

“I saw that in your bio. Who turns down an offer like that…”

“An idiot in love I guess.”

“You really loved that guy?!?” he said with clear disdain.

She giggled, “No, not really. We met in Vegas; it was one of those drive through deals.”

“Why’d you marry him?!?”

She blushed furiously, “Well, he’s really great in bed,” she laughed. “I was in a few loving relationships with bad sex and figured I’d rather have it the other way around. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

He voice turned serious, “What’s the typical procedure?”

“For what? Preflight?”

“What? No! The guards. What happens when you pull up? Do they check your ID or what?”

“Yeah, but I’ve met them all I think. I was paranoid the first few days and came out here a few times per shift to check on her.”

“So, they’re to follow your orders?”

“Yes, unless there is an obvious reason not to.”

“What about your co-pilot. Did they meet him?”

“Not the third shifters. He and I don’t exactly get along. Well, I guess we didn’t get along. I’m assuming he was in the hotel along with Eric…”

Cross huffed, “He wasn’t in that. In fact he probably ordered it.”

She scolded, “No, he wouldn’t. I know what you think of him, but losing his wife and little girl really screwed him up and seeing all the dead children at Waco didn’t help matters. He’d never blow up a hotel like that during a holiday… If it was a factory, or hell even a college or something, I might be able to see it. He’d never kill so many children when there were other ways to accomplish the same goal.”

He looked at her and refused to counter; he’d never be able to convince her of his true nature.

“Okay, when we get there: this is what I want you to do…”

 

Aaron Cross pulled up to the airport gate and the guard peered in the car, “Ah, Major! Jesus, are you both okay?” he said gawking at them, covered in glass, plaster, blood, and clearly disheveled.

“No, but we’ve been ordered to inspect the craft immediately.”

“We’ve been expecting you to check in since we heard the news. The aircraft is secure,” he motioned behind him to the large white tent at the far end for the airfield. “I’m sorry they dragged you out here, but we’re in good shape Major…” he said clearly thinking this would alleviate her concerns.

“Thank you airmen, but we’d rather go ahead with an inspection while we’re here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He waved them through.

Cross pulled through and she hissed, “he’s not an airmen, he’s a staff sergeant.” He didn’t need her to tell him the guy was an impostor. His uniform was too small and the guy looked like a hired merc; he was a killer, not a Air Force schmuck.

“Too bad he doesn’t know that,” he muttered as he turned the car off while leaving it in drive and put the brake on. “Stay here…” He tried to start the car several times as the guard approached the car.

“Problem?”

Cross shrugged, “It just died.” He turned the key again and nothing happened as the car was in drive. He turned the lights off and got out of the car and walked to the trunk, “I think I have a flashlight back here…”

He only got two steps before the fake guard saw through the ruse and tried to raise his rifle, which was slung under his arm at ‘the low ready’. Cross surged forward, grabbed the barrel and punched him in the throat before using the gun as a leash to spin the stunned man around and put him in a choke hold.

“Jesus,” she breathed, he looked up and was proud to see her still in the car, but leaning out the window.

Cross quickly stripped the man and switched into his clothes, bound him and dumped him in the backseat.

{We lost visual; what’s your status…} came a voice from the ear piece Cross had just put in his ear.

{Major Tyler is here for an inspection. I’m sending her up…}

The voice on the other end laughed, {Roger that.}

 

A few moments later they pulled up in front of a massive tent which was suspended from cranes, on each side. It was set up as a temporary hanger to keep the sun from baking the planes radar resistant coating off. There were lights set up all around it which in the early morning fog gave the otherwise empty tarmac an eerie UFO military cover up vibe to the whole scene.

“Remember,” he chided, “do exactly as I said. Don’t improvise.”

“I got this,” she snapped.

They had switched seats and she was driving. She pulled up, but chose a darker spot and not too close to the craft. He hopped out of the car quickly and saw him duck under the flap as he tucked in his shirt in the front and then the back where his pistol was tucked.

She flung the rifle out window, got out of the car, shifted it into drive and let it move forward at an idle. She scooped up the M4 assault rifle and checked its safety, load, and switched the fire selector to single shot. “Okay Paige: stay low, in the dark, and don’t shoot Cross.”

Cross ducked under the flaps of the tent and surveyed the scene in a second. The plane was massive and encompassed most of the makeshift hanger. Six men were in a semicircle in front of him dressed in unmarked black combat gear, body armor, and their rifles were slung at the low ready position so they just needed to raise them to fire.

“Hey fellas!” Cross greeted warmly while tucking his shirt in: first in the front and then the back. “Have you seen any keys around here, because Alisha is looking for hers,” he joked as he finished tucking in his shirt and whipped his pistol out and fired three times before the men started to react.

The first bullet hit the merc on the far left in the forehead, the second hit the next man in the Adam’s apple, the last hit the third man in his front teeth and took out his spine on the way out. Cross dove for cover behind the front landing gear and wheel blocks as the other three men raised their rifles or ran for scant cover.

He screamed, “Bourne! We got three up, three down!” He heard the car idle through the tarp and rip part of it down, which was followed by three rifle shots from Paige. The three men opened up on the empty car thinking Bourne was in it. Cross was able to get a shot off at one and hit him under the arm, where his vest lacked protection. The man fell and clawed desperately at the wound.

“Two up, four down!” he screamed as he sprinted to the car as it rolled between them. He dove into the passenger side window and rolled to the floorboard as the mens guns went dry. He pounded on the accelerator with his hand, reached up, and cranked the wheel a quarter of a turn toward where the two men had been. He was rewarded with a thump and a blood curdling scream as the car ran over as least one of them.

Cross tried to keep the accelerator down as he climbed into the drivers seat and spun the car around. He floored it and bore down on the last man standing, who was trying to decide between running and reloading. He chose flight and tried to sprint to the landing gear, but he was too slow. At the last second he tried to time a jump and roll onto the windshield like a stunt-man, but Cross was ready for it and stood on the brake once he jumped, then jerked the wheel. The merc hit the front grill and when he jerked the wheel the car turned as to only run over his legs.

He ignored the screams of the two men, got out of the car, put it in drive and let it idle away again. He was disarming them as the Major joined them. “Are you okay Cross?”

He nodded, “Better than these guys. Go check your plane.” She saw him unnecessarily check his pistol’s magazine and knew he didn’t want her to see what was coming next.

“On it.”

He waited for her to climb in before addressing the two men, “One of you lives and one of you dies. Who’s going to talk?”

“We’re not telling you-” one started and the other blurted, “I will!” Cross turned and shot the first man without hesitation.

“So, talk. You’re a merc right? Who hired you?”

Cross checked his injuries, he was the second man he ran over. He saw his legs were crushed, but he wasn’t bleeding heavily.

“In… Internet job. Anonymous source. Suppose to secure the field for the flight, scatter some evidence at the scene, and keep quiet. Money’s in the Middle SUV.”

“All of it? Up front?”

“N-no. Half now. Half Later.”

“…and the other half?”

“Phone number for when the job is complete. Here, take it!”

“Thanks,” Cross stood and promptly shot him once.

He bound up the ladder into the underbelly of the aircraft, “Major, you need to get this thing off the ground. They are framing us…”

“What? So, they used ‘her’ and brought her back? Why? I mean why frame us?”

“Doesn’t matter. Who could’ve flown this- who has access?”

“Well, my co-pilot hates me and is the most likely.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t like him, they would’ve killed him afterward. Do your preflight. I’m expecting a clean up crew any minute.”

He grabbed her purse from the copilot seat and dug through it without her protesting as she was furiously pressing buttons. She sighed, “I really miss toggle switches.”

“Yeah? Aren’t you a little young for those?”

“Been flying since I was little. My dad was Air Force too.”

“Pilot?” he asked as he programmed her phone.

“Not in the service. He was one of the ‘two guys in the room with a key’.”

“Wow… in a nuke silo? Like father like daughter. Okay I programed my number into the phone. Here’s an ear piece. Take off and don’t land, no matter what. They are going to want you dead.”

She stammered, “Y-You aren’t coming?”

“No. I’m going to go kick a hornets nest. Close the hatch…” He slid down the ramp. “Okay, can you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

He quickly checked the SUV the merc had referred to, gathered the rifles and other weapons, and threw the ones he didn’t need in one vehicle. He took the bodies and put one in his car and the others in the spare SUVs. He drove the SUV he was keeping fifty yards away before running back to the plane.

He grabbed some duct tape from his truck, then taped the steering wheels in place. He taped the barrels of the rifles to the side mirrors and around the necks of the corpses. He then cut two fifteen foot lengths of rope for each car, ran one through the trigger guard, the other he tied to the accelerator and ran under the brake pedal, he then ran them out the window of the car.

“Cross, did you pull out the wheel blocks?”

“No. I will but don’t start the engines yet. I got to make a call. Be quiet a minute.”

He dialed the number on the mercs phone, “Yeah?”

Cross did his best to impersonate the last man he killed, “We’re all done here. Everything was handled per your instructions. Our payment?”

“Look to the north. You see the Holiday Inn sign? Second floor vending machine, buy all the diet ginger ales.” The line went dead.

“Okay Major, start it up. If I’m right they will come to kill these guys to make sure there are no loose ends.”

“Okay. So, you think they stole the nuke?”

“Wait- What? It’s armed now?!?”

“Not much use if it isn’t.”

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Just get out of here. Go to black out and don’t land.” He yanked the wheel blocks out as she started the engines.

“Cross, your friends are here…”

He looked up and saw there vehicles turning on to the airfield. “Shit. I thought they’d be coming light.” His mind worked furiously, “Is that thing fully loaded?”

“No, but I do have some regular ordinance.”

“Good. Take off, circle around, and drop your smallest ones on the largest concentration of headlights. Take out a twenty-five yard area.”

“Can do, and Cross? You got a cute butt, I hope you know how to move it.”

He laughed as he looked up at the oncoming cars, “Don’t worry about me. I pulled your blocks out. Get out of here.”

She took off down the dark runway, with all the running lights out, and was airborne before the cars knew she was there.

Cross quickly started the vehicles one by one and they sped down the empty tarmac toward the oncoming cars. Whenever the rope that was tied through the trigger guards bounced under the rear wheel it was yanked and fired a single bullet. Whenever the one looped under the brake and tied to the accelerator was yanked the car sped up then slowed after the rope rolled from under the wheel.

Cross’s puppets show was crude and he hoped it would suffice, but he added the final touch himself as he lay on the tarmac and fired one round at a time at the oncoming cars, adding his rounds to the facade. He didn’t need to disable the cars, just distract them long enough for her to take off, circle the tarmac, add drop her ordnance.

Cross laughed as the cars started their pursuit but realized they were closing the ground too quickly; it wasn’t going to give him enough time. He fired three more rounds and started sprint to his own car. He dove in an dialed Goens. “It’s Cross- I’m about to use an acquired phone to call another number. I need you to ghost the call. Here are the numbers.”

He heard hammering on a keyboard, “Okay Cross, I’m on it. Go ahead.”

He hit redial on the phone he acquired from the merc.

“Yeah?” came the voice on the other end.

“I’m sure that by now that you’ve run voice recognition and you know who you’re talking to.”

“Yes, Mr. Cross. I’m assuming Mr. Goens is on the line-”

Aaron cut in before he could continue, “I didn’t call to hear your super villain monologue. I’m just hoping you aren’t in one of the cars on the tarmac.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it looks like rain…” he laughed and hung up. Rain had long been used as military jargon for bombing or artillery. He saw one of the enemy vehicles break off suddenly and barrel toward the gate.

“Bingo, we have a winner.” He stomped on the gas and barreled down the tarmac as the clock in his head continued to tick. He knew he was out of time, but he also knew that she was flying the most advanced piece of military hardware ever made. She would be able to see every source of heat or motion for miles around. As he closed the distance to the gate, he knew the other cars had turned towards the gate as well. Cross took the best line he could to shorten the distance between himself and the lead car and braced himself for the blast; he knew she would try to localize it to the airfield to avoid civilian casualties.

The explosion hit him from behind and lifted the back of the SUV and he was sure he was going to flip over and he stomped on the gas in a desperate attempt at forward momentum. The front wheel caught and screeched shrilly as Cross tried to arrest the momentum. He won the battle and the rear of the car slammed down and he jerked the wheel to correct his course.

He saw the car he was after turn left and Cross barreled straight through the intersection. There was only one way out of the complex and Cross was highly motivated. He reached under the dash and ripped the cover off the fuse box and then ran his fingers over the fuses as if reading Braille. He found the one he was looking for pulled it out.

It took all he could do to make the next turn at normal speed. He saw the car barreling toward him and waited until the last second to jerk the wheel left so that the car t-boned him. Thankfully he pulled the correct fuse and his airbag didn’t deploy. The man in the other car wasn’t as lucky, the air bag deployed and rendered him unconscious- as they are prone to do.

He ran up to the driver’s door and yanked the man out, cuffed him in riot cuffs the man had on his dash, drug him out, dumped him in his backseat and muttered, “Just one more stop to make…” as his phone rang.

 


	16. Chapter 16: Customer Assistance to the Garden Center

Chapter 16

Customer Assistance to the Garden Center

Three Days Later

Jason Bourne watched as they blew past empty harvested fields at a steady seventy miles an hour. He had nothing to distract him from the constant droning noise that had plagued him for three days. It was comparable to Chinese water torture only more invasive.

The group had decided to go mobile until they had some kind of direction. Kirill had purchased a five-year old RV off Craig's List and they kept one car and one SUV. They all took turns switching out and most people rotated driving partners; although Bourne refused to let Nicky out of his sight.

Marta and Paz had gone to collect the samples Nicky had gathered and were then going to the University of Chicago. Marta said it was the closest place that had everything she needed that had the lowest security. She wanted to go alone, but no one would allow it. Marta refused to tell Cross what she was doing, she had promised Bourne to keep it hush hush. He refused to go with her, so Bourne asked Paz. He was on the ragged edge, having been nearly worked to death the past year, and the all figured it to be light duty.

"Nicky, can you hand me some more aspirin?"

"Sure thing." Nicky dug around in the console and retrieved the already opened bottle and poured two out.

"Three please." She cast him a sideways glance and gave him one more, before making three ticks on his ad hoc medical chart she had started. Normally it would have annoyed him, but at least the droning sound stopped for a minute. Then it started up again…

"…so then Danny Zorn suggested that we go up to Amsterdam for the weekend and blow off steam. God, I had such a great time. Now I'm usually not into drugs- I hadn't developed my drinking problem yet… well except for wine. And beer. Oh, and rum. Okay, well I guess I had… Anyway, we shared a room while we were there and when you found out- Lord help me Jesus did you throw a fit. I finally got you to calm down and made up for it by giving you acupuncture."

Nicky's memories as far as work and Jason were very ordered, completely compartmentalized and linear. Anything else was a tangled mess of half-stories, broken sentences, and vague references. He needed mental diagrams to try to keep it all straight.

True to her word, she was telling him everything- all at once. He had tuned her out for most of the day, which he knew was horrible but he couldn't help it. Her voice was sore from talking nonstop for three days and he knew he should be grateful, but he just couldn't listen anymore. He had tried talking for a while, but every story he had that was worth telling involved Marie and even though she never said anything- or even reacted to it, he knew it was salt in an old wound.

Finally he had to stop the assault on his ear drums, "I never thanked you-"

"…oh believe me, you thanked me later." She stretched out and put her bare feet on the dash and wiggled her toes.

"That's not what I was talking about. Desh. For Desh."

"For Desh- what? For the whole Tangier's thing?"

"No, well yes. Desh was better than I was. When he had me pinned on the bed, that was it. I was done. Beds are soft and almost impossible to escape from if you're pinned."

"Stop it- you're giving me flashbacks of my night with Byer…" she teased. "Seriously to be fair: it was an enjoyable event, but it still makes me feel icky," she shuddered. "I guess I'm saying my body was into it but my mind and soul wasn't? Does that make sense?"

He nodded. "I'm just glad part of you enjoyed it." He saw her glaring at him. "I'm serious. I'm not trying to be a dick. What if you hated it all three ways?" He said reluctantly, "I will admit that I'm glad the other two thirds of you hated it. If that makes a difference."

She swallowed and nodded, "It means a lot. I just wish I could've been with you first. I mean it had been forever for me…"

He glanced at her, "Not the WHOLE time right? Not since Paris."

She recoiled, "God no. Jesus. Four years? You think I'm bitchy and insufferable now! No, I had a bunch of casual encounters- until I saw you again in Spain." She squeezed her eyes shut, "God, that sounded bad. I mean- I didn't have any SERIOUS relationships for that three years. Just a random hook-up as needed."

"You don't need to explain yourself…" he offered.

"Even though we were technically broken up when you lost your memory, we weren't REALLY broken up. We just got too close, too scared. It was more of a cool down period. Neither of us saw other people…"

He nodded and tried to take a sip of his drink but it was empty. "You can have some of mine…"

He took a draw and made an odd face, "What is this?"

"Oh, an Arnold Palmer: half sweet tea / half lemon-aid."

"Oh." He took another draw, "I like it. Just a surprise. I'm serious about Desh though. If you hadn't fish-hooked him off of me…"

She laughed politely, "He wasn't better than you Bourne."

"Me in Paris, no. Me then, yes." He turned and glanced at her for a second, "Thank you, really." She tried to hold his hand but her bandages made it impossible, so she leaned her head on his shoulder.

She swallowed hard, "You're welcome. You know there is a fighting style for that. Fighting while pinned on a bed. Conklin made me take this three week class on it- basically an anti-rape class on steroids. A lot of it is based on feinting and distraction, to create wiggle room so you have room to attack."

"You remember it- could you teach me?"

She looked at him for a long time, "Seriously, or is this like a come on thing. I'm not really into S&M or anything," she said, her voice tight.

"No, I'm serious."

She nodded, "Sure. I should spar with you in general anyway. I need the exercise."

She sighed deeply and then said for the tenth time in three days, "I can't believe she's gone. I mean she tried to call us both Jason- Ashley tried to call us both. And we didn't pick up because we were too busy… …screwing." She swallowed hard and looked out the window a long time. "…and within five minutes *poof* she's just gone. None of us can come up with a reason. She leaves her backpack and purse, but takes her wallet, keys, and a car. Why would she leave without telling us? Any of us! Why would she take off like that at four in the morning?"

He waited for the next comment to come, when it didn't he offered his usual reply anyway, "She not dead Nicky."

She rolled her eyes, "She just didn't get lost Bourne."

"I know that. There are other possibilities. I didn't want to say it in front of Allen, but there is another possibility besides: getting lost, being nabbed by Padre, or some branch of the government." There was a long pause, "A normal rapist or killer could've-"

"JESUS! Well thanks for throwing that out there Jason. Christ." She held up her hand unnecessarily, "Don't tell her father that. Christ."

"Look Nicky. Gary Indiana's population is like 98% black…"

"Yeah- not to be the total racist Marta thinks I am, but it's hard not to notice."

"Well a pale redheaded Irish girl sticks out. The police there are looking for her and if a body turns up we'll know. It's not like she went missing in Dublin."

"Well at least we'll have her body," she snapped.

"The fact that we don't already is proof enough that she's alive."

"You really think that?"

"Yeah. Pull over at that rest area; you drive."

"Wow, your head must really be bad," she laughed. He radioed the other vehicles in their makeshift convoy that they were pulling over only to switch drivers and would catch up.

As Bourne rounded the car, he stopped and retrieved a bag from the trunk. As Nicky drove, he started sifting through the bag. "Is that Ashley's?" she gasped.

"Yeah, I stole it from the other car at lunch."

He examined some pill bottles, "Jason, I looked at those. They're just low-grade antidepressants. She'd do better with a chocolate bar." Nicky's right thumb was unwrapped, so she could drive fine on the highway, but city driving was out of the question.

He stopped suddenly and lifted his head in thought, "Are you on birth control?"

"WOW. Isn't a bit late for that question?" He glared at her. He had realized over the past three days that Nicky was the opposite of Marie as far as ranting. Marie would answer 'yes or no' then go on a tangent. Nicky was the reverse. First the tangent then the answer he needed. He found it infuriating. "Yes, Bourne. I can manage my reproductive system."

"Are you on this brand?" he held up a pack. She glanced at them and nodded. "She's on the greens ones now- are they the sugar pills or the real ones?"

"Those are the place holders; I don't even take them. They are there for habit building."

He furiously dumped the rest of the bag onto the floor board and started sifting through the contents. "What- are- you- doing? What are you looking for?"

"I'm not looking for anything. It's what's not here. Tampons. There's nothing like that in here." His head jerked up, "Did she ask you for any?"

"No. Why-?" she started to ask as it clicked. "That's where she went. To buy some."

He nodded. "She: got to her room, gets ready for bed, realized she was out and was too embarrassed to ask you- or to get one of us to go with her. That's why she left the purse too. She grabbed the wallet and keys, thinking she'd just run in and out." He snatched up the walkie-talkie, "Allen!"

"Yeah."

"Do you know if your daughter was ragging it?"

"WOW!" Nicky shook her head in exasperation.

"How would I- wait… Before we left San Diego I told her to stick a cork in it and she joked about needing me to go to the store soon. Why?"

"There aren't any in her bag. I think that's where she went."

"Okay… What good is that now?"

"Any store open at 4am in that neighborhood has security cameras. We'll be able to see what happened when she was there. She wouldn't know any small local chains- so they are out. CVS and Walgreen's aren't generally all nighters, so that leaves," and they chorused, "Wal-mart."

Goens offered, "Wal-mart's cameras upload to a national server to combat employee theft- to prevent local tampering."

"Can't you hack it?"

He laughed nervously, "I already have- last week. I was getting ready for our annual day-after-Thanksgiving ritual of watching the doors open and people getting trampled…"

Nicky laughed and Jason glared at her, "I'm sorry- but that's just funny."

Bourne barked, "Next major town we come to we'll stop and check. Daisy chain some laptops together so we can all search at once."

"…on it."

Thirty minutes later they were connecting through a WiFi connection at The Cracker Barrel. Each one of them was pouring over a different set of cameras. Cross came back with some takeout food as they were lamenting their lack of progress.

"I was sure I was right…" Jason said deep in thought.

"You try a different location?" Cross asked.

Nicky pulled up the map, "No. See the next closest is more than twice the distance."

Cross shook his head, "No! When Paige and I went to her plane, police and emergency services had this whole area- here- closed off because of the blast. We had to detour around our ass to get to our elbow. Try the next one!"

Before he could finish the sentence, Allen had the new feeds loading. After a few minutes Bourne exclaimed, "There! She pulls in the lot at 4:24. You see that- the car behind her kept going. Then here it is from the other direction. He did a U-turn up the road to throw her off. He pulls in the lot when she is almost inside- see this. She hesitated, mid-step! It's a dead giveaway. She made him! She was looking at the reflection in the door."

The cameras showed her continue inside and then car barreled to the left, around the store. She turned to look and it was gone, she stepped back outside cautiously, looked both ways and didn't see it. This seemed to worry her more. She walked backward into the store and dialed a number on her phone.

"Zoom in on the phone…" They watched her dial the numbers and start talking. "Nicky, you said the other day you could read lips…"

"Kind of. I don't need to though. That's my number. She is saying 'pick up, please pick up-p…'" Nicky's voice hitched and she looked away. Ashley stopped and got a cart and hurried through the store. Periodically she threw things in the cart, but she was all but running through the store.

"Weapons," Bourne said simply. "She's trying to find a weapon." He stepped back and Nicky thought he was going to walk away for a moment. They both knew how futile trying to fight one of them would be.

They saw her stop suddenly, go erect, then sprint down an aisle, and grab- "Hedge clippers?" Nicky muttered.

"Bolt cutters," Cross corrected. "Probably thinking of going for the shotguns; usually they have a metal cable running through them."

She turned with the bolt cutters and sprinted away from sporting goods / hardware. "I'm watching him. I think he heard her running. He is now running too." Kirill said slowly.

"Where the hell is she going with bolt cutters?" Nicky half covered her mouth.

Bourne said suddenly, "The Garden Center. The cutters are for the fence- the whole thing is caged in- roof too."

She sprinted to the glass door to the garden center and slammed into the area next to it hard. "She'll never break that…" Allen murmured.

Cross shook his head, "No, watch. She's clever…"

She rammed into the side panel, one side of it popped out on hinges and swung outward. Bourne explained, "After 'the Who concert'- where people were trapped behind doors that wouldn't open and were crushed to death, doors in public places were rethought. It's designed to pop-out under duress- from the inside only. So, people can get out if there is a fire."

The camera for the garden center was far off, but they saw her run to the fence and pull out her phone, dial a number, and set it down as she cut.

"That's when she called me," Bourne said slowly.

She was almost done when he sneaked into the garden center and quickly moved from cover to cover. He moved smoothly and gracefully, as if he were dancing. Every time she turned to look over her shoulder the man had just stepped out of sight, it would have been comical if it were a movie.

She put the cutters down, stuck one foot through and turned to look one more time and he was one inch from her face. He said something to her and she grabbed the fence and tried to pull herself through the hole, but he held something over her mouth as she struggled and then slowly she went limp.

They watched despondently as he pushed her through the hole and drug her to his car that was parked behind the garden center. They had all hoped beyond hope that she got away somehow.

"Back it up, what did he say to her?"

Allen knew what he said the first play through, he said hauntingly, "Hello Ashley…"

—

At that very moment, very far away…

The darkness of the room was complete except for faint light coming from around the edges of the door. There was a distinct lack of noise other than that of a man screaming like a tea kettle from a long distance away.

Ashley Goens had awoken some time ago and was too petrified to move. The blood curdling screams gave her all the incentive in the world to remain quiet and hopefully forgotten. She was laying on an old metal cot and thin mattress that smelled like mildew.

"You're awake. Good, I can get started…" she heard a familiar voice say as the man lit a Zippo. He used it to find the string for the bare light bulb in the center of the ceiling. He was the man that had abducted her from the store. He had short, unkempt, greasy hair, a week's worth of stubble, and bags under his bloodshot eyes.

"Your voice- you're Phnxeffxt from online- Marcus. The guy I've been playing Call of Duty with?"

"Yes."

"Is that your real name?"

"That's a difficult question to answer. It has been for ten years."

He looked around, rubbed his face as he sat on a stool, put on goggles, lit an acetylene torch, and started to heat a piece of steel rebar. "Look away from the light or you'll be blinded."

"Wh-what are you going to do to me?" she faltered.

"I'm not going to do anything to you Ashley."

"But, someone is going to- hurt me?" she glanced to the door at the far off screams.

"Yes," he said flatly.

She said very slowly, "I think I would've liked it more if you lied…"

"What would be the point of that? You see, this way your fear will build, but it also lays the foundation of trust- in that I'm honest with you. You should really read up hostage situations…"

"Yeah, because I'm going to do this more often."

"The same skills that are employed in hostage negotiations are used in a lot of situations, buying a used car for example. Fear, awareness, pressure, and deception."

Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits in the likeness of her mentor, "So, you are deceiving me?"

"Nope, I did that already. I would've focused more on the word 'hostage' if I were in your shoes, and why is that class?"

She looked up in thought, "Because they're valuable."

"Ding, ding, ding… We have a winner! Also, the more valuable the hostage, the better the treatment- usually. Prisoners are worthless."

She noticed that it had been quiet for a few minutes; the screaming had stopped. He craned his head in acknowledgment as well. "That's not good; you're up next."

She heard a clanging noise from down the hall and she was suddenly mortified, "Is that a dinner-bell; like a real one?"

He turned the torch off and tossed down a circle he made from a piece of rebar and it landed with a clank on the dirty cement floor, "Real enough. I would leave your shoes, socks, bra, and jeans here. Actually, here- take these," he dug into his backpack, and held out an olive green shirt and boxer shorts.

She gave him an 'as if' look, "Sweetie, he'll just cut them off or throw them out. If you want them later, leave them here." He took out a cigarette and lit it and mostly turned away from her. She debated for a moment, until they heard the clanging again, this time it sounded angry. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

She changed as quickly as she could and he grabbed her by her upper arm and slowly led her up a hallway that was circular, like a tube. It looked like some sort of utility tunnel. It had an upward incline and she could see a door at the far end. "The acoustics here are weird. We're underground?"

He nodded. "There's nowhere to run, even if you made it outside. Come on." He seized her by both arms and started pushing her when they were within twenty feet of the door. "Move!" he barked. "Don't make me drag you…"

She felt groggy still and her muscles were stiff, as though she had moved in a very long time, but she slowly started walking again. When they got near the door, it opened and she saw a rather bazaar looking little man. He couldn't have been five feet tall and was very gaunt. All of his skull features stood out and were very pronounced; he almost looked alien. He smiled at her showing huge yellow teeth and suddenly her terror doubled. He looked rabid with excitement and suddenly she felt completely naked in the tank-top and boxers; she crossed her arms in front of her chest as if cold.

She saw an odd chair in the middle of the room. It looked like it was from the fifties and was completely padded with white leather. It had a huge gear and crank under it; it appeared to switch from a chair to a table when cranked. It had arms and legs as well that looked fully adjustable. She saw a metal table that was full of: medical instruments, garden tools, and kitchen utensils. They were all covered with blood already except for a speculum and other tools she recognized from the obgyn.

Her attempt at courage vanished; she screamed, "Oh, FUCK THIS!" and tried to bolt. Marcus was ready for it and had her in a choke hold in a flash. She reached back and clawed at his face before blacking out.

She woke up a minute later as they were strapping her feet down and she tried to kick, but it was too late. They were clearly arguing in another language, one that sounded unlike anything she'd ever heard. Marcus screamed at him and pointed to the instruments and then pointed at her. There was a moment where he struggled with words and pointed at her and wagged a finger 'no'.

"I'm not going to tell you anything!" she quivered.

"Good," he said as he turned to leave and started to shut the door.

"You're leaving?!"

"Yeah. There's no reason for me to stay- he doesn't speak English."

"Who's going to ask me questions?!"

"No one. What would be the point, you're not telling us anything- remember?" he shut the door and walked down the hall. He pulled out a tiny brass music box and started cranking it, listening to the tune to drown out the screams; this time they were going to be real as well as those from his past.

Ashley watched as the strange little man took the bloody instruments and washed them one by one in a bucket of water and then soaked them in a tray that he filled with rum.

She rolled her eyes, "Sterilizing the instruments? What's the point? You're going to kill me anyway."

The little man shrugged and motioned to the door, [他是负责的。.]

"Yeah, 'he's the boss'." She twirled her finger near her head, "Screw ball…"

He nodded and laughed, and then he poured a glass of rum and drained it. He refilled the glass and motioned it to her.

"No, thank you." He motioned to the table of instruments, and then held the glass up again, and she nodded rapidly after looking at them. She gulped it down and then another when he offered it.

He slowly started to crank the wheel and the legs started to move forward and the seat back reclined as it morphed into a table. He kept her legs together, but swung moved her arms over her head. She felt like Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian Man as her limbs were moved like a dolls.

He went to drawer and came back with the last thing she expected to see: a huge feather. He proceeded to tickle her everywhere for five or six minutes and despite her best efforts she was snickering. When he was done, he picked up a clip board and started making notations. "Oh crap… you were finding out what was most sensitive." He balled up foam ear plugs, jammed them in his ears. He then put Bose noise canceling headphones over them. "Oh, shit…"


	18. Chapter 17 Shadows of Yesteryears

 

***Second update this week. Chrismas flashback is a belated present for Frustsheep, my biggest fan.  :)**

 

Chapter 17

Shadows of Yesteryears

Allen Goens huffed in frustration, "Okay, why the hell would they grab Ashley? Nicky is so fond of saying that you guys don't screw up; what the hell did they take her for?"

Bourne said with an even flat tone, "Bargaining power is the most likely reason. Secondary objectives are that they don't know who else is involved or still alive, or how to find us. Somehow he was able to find her. Kirill, how are we coming on a head shot of this guy?"

Kirill had been watching and rewatching all the security footage, "We got nothing. He is really good. He is either faking lighting a smoke, coughing, rubbing is forehead, or something every time he gets close to a camera."

Goens piped up, "Walmart uses the same basic layout everywhere…"

Kirill continued, "We got two things: general size, and there is something in his left hand. Here-" he zoomed in to a picture of his left hand, which showed a dark line around the thumb.

Nicky said as she tried to pace in the narrow space, "I'm pretty sure that is the guy from Australia- not the one that shot me, the other one."

"What the bloody blue blazes of Hades is going on?" Reina's voice came from above them. She had slept in the bed that is in a narrow cavity above the driver's seat in the RV.

Nicky scoffed, "I didn't think an atomic bomb could wake you up…" Reina's sleeping had been the subject of more than a few laughs. It didn't matter how loud you talked, what noises were made, or how hard they shook her; she wouldn't wake up. Once they had slammed on the brakes in a pile up and she had rolled over twice and slammed into the wall face first and- nothing.

She groggily climbed down and snapped, "We've stopped. Submarines don't stop unless there is a serious fucking problem. What's wrong?" She climbed down, faced away from them all and started changing clothes. Serving with nothing but men had eroded her modesty level to nothing long ago.

"We are looking at footage of Ashley from Walmart," Nicky offered. "It looks like he is wearing the things NFL Umpires use…"

Jason shook his head, "Those are black rubber bands. They use them to keep track of the downs."

Kirill mused, "A transmitter? I never saw him speak though."

"See here, it wraps twice around the hand and then over the thumb," Goens took his reading glasses off and tossed them on the desk.

Reina look a quick glance, "Rosary."

Cross coughed, "No. Looks flat."

"I mean a tattoo of one. I've seen one like it before. A guy I dated a long time ago had one," Bourne raised an eyebrow. She straightened as everyone turned to her, "He was on the Concord that crashed- into that hotel." She opened the door quickly and stepped out.

"Cross…" Bourne said simply and the other man followed her. Since Ashley the assets wouldn't let the others out of their sight and Cross had already been on the cameras inside the restaurant.

Bourne was tilting his head sideways looking at the footage and saw Nicky was still looking at the door. He saw her blink three times and shake her head, as though she had a flashback. She locked eyes with him and he knew something was very wrong. "Okay, well we know we aren't going to get anymore from this," she swept her arms at the monitors.

Bourne nodded, "Right. Allen download what you can; you can never go back to that site. We move out in two minutes."

Bourne and Nicky ducked out of the RV, [Treadstone?] he asked in French. She nodded. [Me?]

She swallowed hard, [Padre.]

"How many…" He threw up his hand dismissively, "It doesn't matter. That happened in Paris- why not me?"

She shifted her weight, he knew it meant she was deciding how much to hold back. She opened her mouth- paused, then spoke, "I want to lie to you. I am so sick of lies." She swallowed hard, [I knew that you couldn't handle it. I would've needed to lie to you to get you to do it and I didn't want to. I got soft. Padre had objections as well; the mission was unusual. The target was the plane, that flight- not a person. The plane had to go down. That's all we were told. Usually we avoided attention and collateral damage, that time it wasn't an option. So, do you think this guy is the same guy Reina knew? Was he the target…?]

He shook his head and motioned for silence as Cross and Reina returned, "We ready to roll?" he asked. Bourne nodded.

The rest of the day they tried to put a lot of distance between themselves and Cracker Barrel in case their hacking was anticipated. Bourne and Parsons split off in a car again. Before she started her droning she asked tentatively, "You wanted to hear about 'us'…" He nodded and she cleared her throat, [I hope French is okay- it's more intimate…]

 

* * *

Paris, France

Dec 24, 1999

As Nicky Parsons walked down the sidewalk outside the line of boutiques she had patronized for the better part of the day, she knew that she was being watched. She had felt nervous the whole day and it finally got the best of her. She pulled out her phone and flipped it open and dialed the number listed as AAA, but was a far cry from an automotive service.

"Yes?" the voice said simply.

"Please tell me that it's you Bourne…"

"It's you Bourne…"

"What? Seriously. Are you following me? I'm totally freaking out!"

"You don't look like it."

"Jesus! Don't do that."

"When did you first know you were being followed?"

"I didn't. I felt like I was being watched."

"When?" he insisted.

"All day." He couldn't see her but could tell she was turning her head, looking for him.

"You shouldn't have waited this long. Call immediately next time, even if I am out of the country. That way we can set up a call back. I thought the black nightie was a better choice."

"What? You're guessing. There wasn't anyone else in there, you couldn't know that."

"Do too. You bought the purple one, because you wanted it to match the eye shadow you like."

"What the- am I wired?"

He laughed, "No. I went in after you and told the lady you were my girlfriend and I was looking for stocking stuffers- get it?"

"Yeah, very clever," she huffed as she stormed to her car.

"I thought your underwear choices were limited to ones with superheros on them."

"…and the bras?"

"Well maybe not superheros, but I'm sure they make My Little Pony and Barbie in your-"

"Bourne," she snapped, "You finish that sentence and the next time I give you pills, they'll be what they use to chemically castrate dogs."

"Not funny Parsons… Have a nice Festivus."

She didn't understand the reference, but chose not to ask. "You too," she snapped and closed her phone. She walked quickly down the sidewalk as choralers sang, the street lights and Christmas lights came on. She lamented not knowing any of the songs in French.

She walked quickly, in anger, and opened the trunk of her car to find it empty; the bags from the other stores had been stolen. She hurled her things in the trunk and slammed it. She drove back to the safe-house through a nightmare of Friday night / Christmas eve gridlock.

Most people in her situation would lament their lack of family and friends, but she had always been alone. Her father was an aloof businessman who was never there, her mother had died in childbirth, and she had never really had friends. There would be no Christmas tree, presents, or merriment. She would continue her tradition of Chinese delivery, a hot bath, a good book, and some hot chocolate before bed.

She arrived at the safe-house, got her remaining parcels from the boot, and froze as she started to unlock the door. She had a key ring pad to arm and disarm the houses alarm and defenses, but when she pushed it nothing happened. She didn't hear the buzz on the inside to indicate that it had worked.

Suddenly the door opened so fast she jumped. It took her a moment to realize it was Jason Bourne in front of her wearing an apron, a hideous Christmas sweater, and holding a ladle.

"Ah, Nicky. You're early. Let me take those," he said as he took her parcels as if it were his home.

There was nothing different about the way that he said her name, but it was that he called her Nicky and not Parsons that clued her into the fact that they weren't alone.

It had been almost a year since they first met, and not once had he used her first name. She had projected enough icy glares his way after their Clintonsk sexual encounter, so that there had never been a repeat performance. The first few weeks after she had felt the tension in him and kept waiting for him to grab her a kiss her like some 1950's movie. Then she realized that the tension within him was always there; it wasn't her. She had just .never noticed it before, but he was always on alert; as if a someone was going to kill him at any moment.

She saw that there was a fire going, smelled all kinds of things cooking, and saw two of her other agents there as well. Padre, her most senior asset, was putting the finishing touches on a Christmas tree while wearing a Santa hat. The other, Jarda, was wrapping what she quickly realized were the items stolen from her trunk.

"Let me take your coat…" Bourne said as if it were his home. He took the coat, hung it on the rack, dropped the other bags with Jarda. She heard a buzz and he took off to the kitchen.

She turned to close the door and was shocked to see the Professor, her Barcelona man, in the doorway. "Merry Christmas Nicolette," he hugged her before she could protest. "I was the one keeping tabs on you this afternoon," he explained. "Here is a little something." He handed her a small present as he pushed past her. The Professor was probably her favorite asset, or at least he was the most like her. He was quiet, well read, a musician, and very cultured despite his cockney accent. After pouring himself a drink he settled in at her miniature piano and started playing Christmas music.

"Biscuit Nicolette?" Padre extended a plate of cookies and a cup of peppermint tea.

She fully intended to take a bite of the cookie out of politeness and discard it later, but it was still warm and very delicious. She vowed to run a mile as punishment as she forced herself to nibble at it, to savor the experience. She laughed when she noticed he was wearing a tacky Christmas sweater with snowmen on it. "Ah, silly I know but de rigueur, given the occasion."

"Of course."

"I made one for you too…" he held up another sweater with Rudolph on the front complete with red bulbous nose. "Arms up. Come on, I made it myself; that means you have to wear it." He pulled it over her head even though she refused to raise her arms.

"Oh, you really shouldn't have," she laughed. "And I thought my wardrobe was comprehensive." She laughed again at the look of horror on Jarda's face; he was also a clothes horse and would clearly rather die than wear something like that.

She wandered into the kitchen and saw that Borne was using every surface for food and must have a dozen dishes, several pies, and two plates of cookies.

"Jesus, you cooked all this? It looks… perfect."

"Yeah. I'm a chef."

"What? How did I not know this?!"

He laughed, "Because I wasn't certified until a few months ago."

"Well that explains why 90% of your assets are pots and pans," she laughed. She had been to his apartment before, seeing to the place when he was on long assignments, and it was very barren except for the kitchen. She had been worried for his psychological health at the starkness of the place until she had seen the kitchen. As long as he had passion for _something_ , and wasn't dead inside, he was fine. "How am I supposed to eat all of this?" she scoffed as the doorbell rang.

She ushered in Castle, her man in Rome, and his local contact Marissa. As soon as she shut the door it rang again; it was Mannheim and his local Stephane. Then the door rang again and again and again.

"I feel like Bilbo Baggins," she muttered, lamenting the loss of her quiet evening alone as she opened the door again.

She had twelve assets and eleven local contacts that reported to her in total, she was the twelfth local- Bourne's. Eighteen of the twenty-four were there for the 'off the books' Christmas party.

She hadn't really noticed before; all the locals were women that seemed to match the assets in age, appearance, and style. She wasn't sure who had thought of it, but it was really quite brilliant. They could meet anywhere and even if someone were tailing one of them, meeting a woman that seem to match them perfectly wouldn't seem out-of-place. She was surprised that some of them knew the others, and it was clear that some of them didn't like each other, but in a group this big it was bound to be the case.

The sheer number of people was staggering. When she saw all the food Bourne had made, she thought that it would take her a hundred years to eat it all, but the descended on it like locusts and her own larder was invaded as well.

Everywhere she went there were people. She was use to being alone and the jolliness soon began to wear on her. Bourne could sense it and kept her wine glass full.

Towards the end of the evening Bourne spoke up from the crowd, "I know what we forgot… Christmas music." He held up Nicky's violin case.

"Oh, no… Bourne! I haven't touched that in years…"

The Professor laughed, "Liar. Your fingers are as callused as your heart."

Everyone laughed at her expense and Padre whispered in her ear, "The more you fight it, the worse it will be. Smile, play a song and move on…"

After another minute of prodding she agreed to play one song; she was lamenting it immediately. She powered through Ode to Joy with her eyes closed and couldn't keep from crying. The room was silent and when she was finished the entire room was gawking at her. Normally it was an uplifting piece, but when she played it the piece echoed with sadness and loneliness.

"Sorry. I always cry when I play."

"No need to apologize Nicolette; you're quite good," offered the Professor offered as he started playing Moonlight Sonata on the piano, thereby freeing her from further obligation.

She excused herself to put her instrument upstairs and took time to collect herself and fix her makeup. When she came back down most of the guests had left. She looked for Bourne but didn't see him. "Did Bourne leave?" she asked the Professor.

He raised an eyebrow as if it were a test.

"The chef."

"Ah, yes. He was the first one out." She didn't bother to hide her disappoint, it would just make it more obvious how much she wanted to see him. The others thanked her and left all at once. She sighed deeply and when to the kitchen to start working on the mountain of dishes and saw they were all done. The office was immaculate.

She continued with her ritualistic bath and hot chocolate, before reading 'At the Mountains of Madness' by HP Lovecraft.

* * *

 

Nicky lay in the dark trying her best to go to sleep, but was failing miserably. She hadn't realized what she had missed every year until tonight; now she knew that Christmas's in the future would be painful if she were alone.

Looking out the window she saw snow swirling. It had been windy all day, but she didn't think it was going to snow. She knew that it probably wouldn't snow long, or last on the ground until morning, so she jumped up and pulled on her coat and shoes.

She opened her window, and looked at the sky, then at the street below as her room was on the third floor. Every once and awhile she would hear talking and figured someone left their TV on.

She leaned all the way out to see the tip of the Eiffel Tower that was barely visible behind a building; it was something Bourne had pointed out to her. That happened almost eleven months ago. He had held her as she leaned out to see it; the experience culminated in a stunned display of cunnilingus and nearly to the consummation of their relationship until she had opened her fat mouth.

She rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. Even now she was detached: cunnilingus and consummation? The doctor in her just couldn't let go. She had instructed him to be forceful with her because she would be asked on lie detector tests if she 'willingly initiated' sexual relations with any of her assets. She had been such a fool. He had left of course, without telling her.

Bourne's entire existence was predicated on violence and death. The last thing he wanted was to be violent when they made love. She huffed. Made love- screwed, Nicky. Fucked. They weren't even on a first name basis, before or after. She hadn't even kissed him before then. I mean really! She let him go down her her before they even kissed; who does that. She could never figure out why he made her so hot. It was uncanny.

Hell he probably thought it was a trick or test of some kind. Neither of them had spoken about it since. It fell squarely in the 'never happened' category.

She heard the voice on the wind again. She wasn't sure what caused her to do it, but she stepped out on the fire escape, climbed over the railing on to the roof. The footing was precarious for a moment and she almost slipped on ice.

She heard the talking again and knew she was right; it was Bourne. She rounded the corner made by chimney stacks and saw him huddled in a tight ball muttering what sounded like a recipe for a cake.

"Bourne?" he sprang up so fast that she back peddled and would've gone over the edge if he hadn't seized her with an ice cold hand.

"What are you doing here?" he croaked.

"Me? I live here. Are you crazy! You're going to freeze."

"Been in colder."

"In this kind of wind- on a roof? Jesus. You're going to die. What the hell are you doing?"

"They might come back."

"Who is _'they'_ \- the other assets? They aren't coming back," she insisted as she pulled him to his feet.

She tried to help him inside, but he refused her aid. She pulled him into the bathroom and turned the shower on hot, "C-can't do that," he stuttered. "Gotta heat from core out. Hot skin fools body into not heating core."

"Oh. Okay. Well the steam will help. I'll make you some tea." She hurriedly went downstairs and started the water.

She turned to get the tea and suddenly she was seized from behind, around the waist and flung against a wall. She felt one of the icy hands move from her waist to wrap around her neck- or rather under her chin and pulled her head backward forcefully. The other hand slid up her shirt, raising goosebumps on the way to cupping her breast.

"Bourne! Stop. Last time was… ill conceived." She shuttered, not at his hands but at his warm breath on her neck. She felt a swell of shame as he worked his way down and found her already prepared.

She jerked away and spun to face him, she slapped him hard and barked, "Move." He bent and seized her behind each thigh and lifted her. She couldn't resist wrapping her legs around him as he carried her several feet to the stairs where he deposited her.

She moaned as his rough hands poured over her flesh. He yanked at her coat and night shirt, as she kicked off her shoes, leaving her in her underwear- she hadn't gotten fully dressed to go outside.

She had read once that some women put their glass sex toys in the freezer and never understood the appeal until that night. Her skin was hot and flushed and his was frozen and ridged. She squeaked involuntarily as he ripped her underwear off, not wanting to chance her getting away.

"Bourne, really… we can't do this." She saw his eyes and they were cold- primal. It wasn't a killers gaze, it was primal lust. He put his arms behind her knees and pushed forward until they met her chest. "Jason…" she whispered and still saw no change. She quickly reached in between them both, he thought it was to guide him in, but she covered herself- denying him admittance.

He saw her nostrils flare and she swallowed hard before squeezing her eyes shut. She stuttered shamefully, "I- I love you. If we do this, it will be more than sex- for me."

She didn't feel him move at all. He didn't relax his stance, nor advance. Finally she opened her eyes again and saw that he was studying her. He nodded and whispered "I know."

Her hand slipped away and suddenly he was in her. She had waited almost a year for this and although love in any form was alien to her, she felt him against her and knew he had desperately wanted this as well. Suddenly she realized the amount of lust he had for her and wondered how long it had for him.

He increased his pace and she felt the stairs dig into her spine and blurted in pain, "Jason-"

"David…" he whispered as he clutched her, lifted them, and she thought he was going to carry her to the bed, but he only made it to the top of the stairs.

He saw an odd look on her face, "You didn't know?"

"No." She purred into his ear, "Constance," then bit his earlobe playfully.

He laughed until she glared at him, "I like it. It just fits you perfectly."

It took them three position changes before they finally made it to the bed.

 

* * *

She felt the warm sun on her bare skin and recalled the events of the prior evening. She started to wonder if it was a dream until she felt the rug burn on her knees and back. She stretched and purred as she rolled over- knowing he would be long gone.

She was startled to see him sitting in a chair by the door, watching her intently. He was fully dressed including his shoes and coat. She fought the urge to cover herself, "Hey you. I figured you would've pulled a disappearing act."

He seemed suddenly embarrassed to be staring at her nakedness and his gaze flitted across the room. It was anything but lavish and like most college aged people her mattress lacked a frame and was on the floor. She had the quintessential random strand of Christmas lights, sheets with lurid colors, an ancient TV, and a copious amount of dirty clothing scattered around.

He had been in her room many times for numerous reasons- both with and without her knowledge, but she seemed to now be going through a rebellious phase as far as the cleaning department. He knew the room was more than that, it was her trying to be young. Nothing about the room appeared to be 'Nicky Parsons'. He saw her as ridged and professional. This looked like a dangerous backlash.

"Sorry, I didn't know I was having guests. I would've called a service…"

He laughed genuinely, now _that_ was Nicky Parsons. "I didn't realize you were awake. I wiped the place down- for prints. They shouldn't know I was up here. Always make sure you wash the sheets immediately."

He stood abruptly and walked quickly from the room. She started to run after him, but quickly grabbed the sheet to cover herself. She was able to catch at the door, "Jason, I promise I won't let it get weird."

"Get weird?" he fainted ignorance. "The place is bug free. I'll see next week." He paused, "You were trying to make your room look like a twenty year olds?" She nodded. "Well don't. It looks like you had a psychotic break. Order some expensive pretentious furniture and bill Conklin." He turned and left quickly and she was careful not to be seen from the street.

As soon as she locked the door she sprinted upstairs and dove on her mattress. She snatched up his pillow and inhaled it- smelling him.

Most women would be upset about his abruptness, livid at the lack of goodbye kiss, or any indication of the prior nights events. As she rolled on to her back she stamped her feet rapidly on the mattress in elation. She was focused on one word he said and she knew he hadn't realized how much it meant. " _Always_ …" she purred as she beamed from ear to ear. _Always_ wash the sheets immediately.

That meant that it was going to happen again…

 

* * *

_Present Day_

Bourne marveled at the way she spoke in French. He had first thought her French was too polished; it sounded like a 1950's 'how to learn French' record. But when retelling events of their love life it sounded more Noir and very sexy.

Suddenly she asked, "When you have flashbacks, you try to force them don't you." He shrugged and nodded. "Next time don't. Relax. Think of something familiar but natural. Like I would think of a massage at the spa. Let it come out on its own. Don't try to steer it either, just let it happen."

He guilty almost snapped, 'what would you know' then realized that after Paris she probably read every book and journal article ever written on amnesia and flashbacks. He nodded.

"You ever try trigger them on purpose? Through imagined experience?"

He wasn't sure what she meant, "No."

"Okay, we will try it together later. It's a theory I read about…"

Suddenly he blurted, "You have regressed memories too…"

Her eyes narrowed swiftly, "How do you know that?"

"I…" he started to reply, but with a flash he was gone- yanked into his past.

* * *

 

_A Long way from there…_

Marcus sat at the end of the hall welding and watching Magnum PI on his laptop. He made it through two episodes before Ashley's screams started getting to him. He walked back up the stairs and banged on the door until the little man opened it. Ashley watched as they had a minor screaming match in that strange language. The little man threw down the antenna from the Chevy Nova he had been whipping her feet with and left through another door.

Marcus unstrapped her from the table, "Come on."

"…feet," she panted breathlessly.

He glanced at them, "You're fine." She shook her head no. He helped her to her feet, which she tried to baby. "Get up and walk fast or you're staying here." He pushed her down the hallway. "Faster."

She was drenched in sweat and shivering, at least partiality from the cold. The place was underground and lacked heat. He put his jacket over her shoulders as they walked down the hall. She casually felt around in the pockets and felt something odd. She pulled it out without thinking and saw him tense up. Her instinct was to drop it and crush it. It was a small brass music box with a little crank on the side. "May I?" He nodded and she cranked the little handle and it played a child's nursery rhyme and she sung with it as they walked, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star…"

She entered the little room, crawled on the little cot, and curled into a fetal position. She finally let herself plunge headlong into hysteria and despair. He left her alone for awhile as he watched another episode of Magnum.

After about an hour and a half she couldn't cry anymore and rolled over to face him, he saw the motion and stopped welding. "Please let me go…"

He laughed, "Really? All of this time and that's what you've come up with? Seriously?"

"I know that you're a good person…" He laughed loudly this time. "You are, I know you are. You don't want to hurt me; that's why he's here."

"Alright Skywalker. I'm a good person?! Let me tell you something Ashley, I've killed a dozen kids just like you. You aren't any different from them."

"A dozen?"

He nodded, "I was the youngest in my theater of operation; I was the last recruited. That means that I got the worst jobs; the jobs others wouldn't or couldn't do. I once held a six month old baby by its ankle and dropped it from a patio of a fifth floor apartment. You know what it did when I dropped it?"

"It fell?" she snipped.

He rushed across the room in a flash and grabbed her by the throat before she could defend herself, "You shouldn't tease the animals…" he pulled her up by her throat and her body quickly followed it. "I let it go and it giggled; it fucking giggled on the way down."

"Don't you understand? That's why you're still good, the guilt- the pain. You think that demented Keebler feels guilty about what he's doing to me?! You couldn't hurt me, which is why he's here- right?"

He clamped down hard on her throat and she looked panicked as her face rapidly grew red, but she didn't grab his hands. He looked down, saw that she was pressing her hands against the wall and not trying to defend herself. He saw that blood was staining the front of her boxer shorts.

He let go of her and muttered, "What did he do?" She glared at him and then he suddenly screamed it at the top of his voice, " _What did he do!"._ His face went scarlet and she realized he had a gun in his hand, but had never seen him draw it.

She rolled her eyes in exacerbation at his density, then he saw a light click on, "H-he hurt me…"

Marcus laughed loudly in her face, "Next time don't roll your eyes first. You should be better prepared."

"Hello! My hotel room was blown up, you took my purse, and you abducted me from a drug store. What else would a woman be buying at 4am in a demilitarized zone? So, you were going to kill that guy for thinking that he raped me, but you're fine with him torturing me?! You have an odd sense of chivalry."

"I wasn't going to kill him for raping you; I was going to kill him for not following my instructions."

"Which were?"

"Nothing sexual, or permanently disfiguring for your first session…" he grabbed her by the upper arm and drug her to the door. "Come on, it's time for your second session…"

"No! NO! Please… please Mr. Marcus, I'm sorry please…"

 


	19. in Flagrante Delicto

 

Chapter 18

in Flagrante Delicto

 

 

 

Bourne felt the flashback coming and let it happen. He tried to think of where he was the most serene. He tried to believe he was walking through the cornfield in Nixa with the warm sun on his face, without thinking of it in too much detail.

 

 

 

New York, New York

1999- 2 weeks before Nicky leaves for Project Treadstone

 

 

 

Bourne walked down a hallway of an office building and knew it was closed and very late at night. Only twenty percent of the hallway lights were on and there was an eerie stillness to the air; he wasn’t alone. He slowly adjusted the Glock under his shirt, more out of nerves than danger. Something wasn’t right.

He arrived at suite 223: the Office of Dr. Hayden Russell PSY.D. He started to reach for his lock-picks, but then slowly tried the door handle and found it unlocked. Now he knew something was wrong; psychiatrists were a paranoid lot.

He drew his weapon as he opened the door. The lights were out; the city outside offered some illumination, but there were vast pools of darkness. He knew someone was hiding in the shadows. He was careful to keep his gun close to his body so that it had no silhouette. He shut the door quickly, knelt, and shifted two feet to the left along the wall.

There was a moment of silence then a voice with a Texas drawl spoke, “Treadstone…” It sounded more like a statement. 

“Yes,” answered simply. 

“Which one? Geneva,” the voice said, another statement.

“Paris.”

The other man flipped the desk lamp on and Bourne saw the man he now knew as Padre, each pointing pistols at each other.

Bourne saw that he had a stack of files on the desk and had been in the process of sorting them. “I drugged the guard’s coffee- Benadryl.”

The Padre laughed, “That will put him out like a light.”

“I guess we’re both interested in our new boss…” They both lowered their pistols in unison. “Would like you like to dig in here, or take the file elsewhere?”

“Better not chance it.”

Jason knew the memory would normally break here, but imagined being in the cornfield with his eyes closed: cool autumn breeze, warm sun on his face, and a waft of dinner cooking.

The memory skipped forward to a hotel room he recognized as a Hilton by the furniture. He saw papers meticulously arranged everywhere, including taped to the walls.

He was making a pot of coffee, “So, which of us is drawing the short straw?” Jason realized they had been here for hours.

“Lover or father? Well… she is closer to your age group…”

“No, no! Our profile says she likes older men. We know she slept with her professor and her shrink- we think. She likes highbrow. That your purview!” 

“Purview? See Bourne, you’re sounding like a Doctor already.”

“No way Jose. Rochambeau?”

“You’re on…” 

They played a blistering game of rock-paper-scissors that quickly went nowhere. Padre sighed, “You’re more maddening than Bobby Fischer. This is pointless; we are both too good. Really Bourne, What is your problem? OHHHHH,” he mocked. “You play for the ‘other team’. So be it. I would think using her would be a good cover for your sexual deviancy, but never the less…”

“What! NO! Questioning my manhood and the ‘it’s wabbit season’ crap isn’t going to work Kane. She’s not my type. She is a cold fish, spoiled- and we think a closet lesbian. She must be the most high maintenance woman on the planet.”

“All the more reason for you to take her- Paris is your domain after all. Just keep giving her things and taking them away. Be cold and callus like her father. I bet she’s in your bed before the first week is out. Besides, it said that she had it for that Navy SEAL guy from Harvard. You were a SEAL; I was in the Air Force.”

Bourne laughed, “Yeah. I know that guy- he’s gay. Fine, I’ll do it. The next one is yours though, and I hope it is a dude.”

“With all luck, we’ll be retired by then. So, since you’re going to fall on the sword- you should get first choice, will you be the sycophant or the authoritarian?”

“Authoritarian,” he barked shortly.

“In character already, splendid!”

“That phony accent is horrible. You sound like Hannibal Lecter, but knowing her- she’ll love it,” they both chuckled. 

“I still don’t know if we should even bother trying to recruit her… she’s young and… tainted.”

“I’ve been beating that drum all night and now you take my side? This was your idea Padre.”

“Sorry Jason, just thinking aloud. We know everything we need to know about her. We’ll have her eating out of our hands in no time. Now let’s go over the plan again-”

 

 

* * *

 

“JASON!!!!!!!” He felt something jab him in the eye at the same time as he heard the scream. He saw the word MACK first, then his mind pulled back and he saw the grill of the oncoming cement truck and he jerked the wheel right. He had been in many close calls but he would never understand how he avoided hitting the truck at all. The tires fishtailed in the pouring rain before he corrected it.

“PULL OVER!”

“Nicky I’m fine-”

“PULL OVER!!!” she screamed hysterically as she fumbled with the door handle with her bandaged hands.

“Okay, okay… wait. Here. Just don’t jump out.” He pulled off to the shoulder.

“I gotta get out… gotta get out…”

“Here…” He undid her seatbelt, reached over, and opened her door.

She half fell out of the car and by the time he joined her she had paced twice and was soaked from the torrential November rain.

“WHAT THE-” she bit her lip hard and clenched her eyes shut. “Does that happen a lot when you’re driving?”

“No. Never.”

“Swell. What did you see?” She saw him hesitate and her eyes narrowed, “Don’t lie.”

“Things I see don’t always make sense Nicky.”

“To you. They will to me. I know the missions and I understand dream interpretation.” He hesitated again. “Jesus Bourne! I gave up my LIFE!!!”

He paused a third time, “I’m afraid of what I saw.”

She was visibly startled, “Okay, well… Let’s get out of the rain and radio the others that we’ll catch up. Let’s get in the back, I need to put a bra on; I wasn’t expecting rain.”

He explained what he saw as he adjusted her wardrobe. He saw her breathing rapidly as he spoke, “Nicky please don’t read too much into it. You can’t take them at face value. We can’t see the big picture.”

She nodded dismissively. “Sure. So, you met Padre- before me. So, you both were working together and wanted to recruit slash brainwash slash convince me to do- something?”

“Seems that way. Or, maybe I was undercover- or he was? Conklin could’ve sent one of us.”

She nodded slowly, “Well, you never asked me outright, but I doubt you would. You always found me unpredictable- unstable.” She lowered her head and her breathing hitched.

“Nicky, if I thought it was all fake I wouldn’t tell you.”

She exhaled and tilted her head up, “You still can’t read me.”

He looked down at the backseat they were sitting in, “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never…”

“In a car? No. Well not really.” She leaned forward and her cold hair brushed his cheek as she kissed him. “We haven’t really been alone since…”

His mind was reeling. He’d expected her to be livid, not turned on. She quickly straddled him and ground against him. They began to neck furiously.

A moment later, she stopped suddenly, “This is wrong: in high school you’d be on top. I want the entire backseat experience.” She shifted off him and pressed herself against the door. “Okay, now attack me ravenously,” she giggled.

“Nicky, we don’t really…”

“Just roleplay- for a minute…” He started kissing her as dictated. “Now try to unhook my bra- no with the right hand…”

“I can’t- guys have to use their left, because our hands are upside-.”

“I know. Struggle ineptly with it.”

He played along for a few minutes of heavy petting before she whispered seductively, “Imagine running with a football tight under your arm. You score a touchdown. The crowd roars. Now you’re in the back of the ‘Cuda struggling with Veronica’s bra-” she felt him go rigged stopped talking.

A moment later he was back, “You did that on purpose? Intentionally? What did you call it before? ‘Imagined experience’?”

“Yeah. It’s a theory of mine. Like, you’ve been to a rifle range before- in the Navy. If you go again, you can try to put your mind back there and try to trigger one. Sorry I didn’t warn you, but I always figured it might work better right after you had a flashback on your own; while the gears are still turning…”

“Well it looks like you have two papers to get published.”

She laughed, “Yeah right.”

Suddenly they both realized that they were in flagrante delicto and the moment grew awkward.

“We really can if you want…” she extended.

“We don’t have time,” he shook his head parentally.

“Your right. You couldn’t possibly make me orgasm in two minutes…” she baited.

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later Ashley was still strapped to the table and her voice was so sore from screaming that she couldn’t swallow. Her tormentor had chiefly concerned himself with the bottom of her feet and was currently holding a blowtorch about a foot away from them. It was burning her, but not seriously. She refused to scream anymore and was so tired she could hardly move. 

He suddenly stopped and turned the torch off. She heard him rummaging around and then felt him spreading something ice cold and goopy on her feet. “Oh, thank you, thank you… Aloe. God that feels good.”

He sat the tin jar next to her head, “What’s that smell, icy hot?” He clicked a charcoal lighter, and ignited the contents, which burned with a blue flame. He turned it, so she could see the label: Sterno.

The scream that she unleashed was indescribable. She violently rocked back and forth trying to knock the table over as he headed for her feet. She started banging her head against the padded headrest, only now realizing why it was so heavily cushioned as she was unable to knock herself out.

She heard the metal door screech open and Marcus yelled something at the man, who continued to move toward her feet. In a flash, a gun was drawn and pointed at her tormentor. “I’m not going to explain this to you again. Please do it. Padre hates you more than I do; give me a reason.” The man dropped the lighter and left with a huff.

“Come on,” he barked as though she were dilly-dallying. He cranked the table into a sitting position and unstrapped her. “Get up, move!” When she didn’t move, he pushed her hard and she spontaneously lost bladder control.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…,” she stammered, recoiling from him and bent to try to wipe the urine up with her hands.

“It’s fine. Leave it. Come on,” he grabbed her by her upper arm and pulled her to her feet.

“I… I can’t! Please don’t leave me here! Please!” she pleaded as she tried to walk. He scooped her up and he expected her to try to get away, but she latched onto him like a human lamprey. 

He took her to a janitorial closet where he had converted the mop sink to a shower, with a shower head connected to a garden hose. “Clean yourself up. I’ll get your clothes.” He shut the door with a screech and she looked around in a panic. She saw the garden hose and an orange electrical cord that was hanging from the ceiling that had a work-light plugged into it.

“Father forgive me…,” she whispered as she tied a loop in the electrical cord.

 

 

* * *

 

When the diminutive man that had been Ashley’s tormentor turned down the hallway, on his way to the surface, he saw the water pouring out from under the door and he knew instantly what she’d done.

“Wallace! Get down here! You left her alone?” he shouted in a southern Californian accent as he reached for the door. Suddenly his whole body went ridged clenching the knob.

Marcus rounded the corner a moment later to the smell of burning flesh and knew the man was dead where he stood. He ran and jump kicked him way from the door and checked for a pulse and his skin was hot to the touch. “You got off easy…”

“Kid are you okay?!? The Keebler is dead. Open the door!” A moment went by, “Ashley? Seriously, I hated the guy. Are you okay?” Silence. “Shit…” 

He made sure to stay clear of the water and kicked the metal door with his boot until it opened. He saw her hanging with the electrical cord around her neck. Seeing her face was turning purple, he ran and jumped into the dry mop sink she had been standing in when she set her trap. He reached down, yanked the cord out of the wall, and turned the water off. He then grabbed her and hoisted her up and off the hook, she was hanging from.

He carried her to the hallway, which still reeked of fried Keebler, dropped her to the ground, and blew into her mouth several times before she started coughing up a storm. “Hey, Ashley! Look at me!” her eyes were still rolled over white. “Hey!” he shook her shoulders until her eyes righted themselves.

“Oh, God,” she rasped. “It’s you… my hero.”

“Funny,” he snapped as he picked her up and carried her to her cot.

On the way she looked at the body and said weakly, “I-I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“I know,” he snapped.

“Or you… I thought it would flip the breaker or something.”

“Well this place isn’t exactly high tech; it lacks modern safety features. It has lead paint and asbestos too.” He sat her on the cot, “Now sit there and if you move I swear I’ll knee cap you.” 

As soon as he was gone, she hit the computer’s spacebar and opened a new window, “Internet Explorer? Seriously?” She started typing a web address, turned on the cam and started talking. 

 

 

* * *

 

He was gone for a long time and she reopened his laptop and started watching Magnum. When he finally came back, he put down a pile of things on the table.

He looked at the computer, “I told you not to move- you moved the bunk.” He said realizing she was playing semantics.

“Get up and walk.” He led her back down the hall to the closet again. “Shower,” he barked and shoved her toward it. She started to close the door, “No, leave it open. You lost all your privacy privileges. 

He stood there, almost completely turned away until she was finished, then took her to the bathroom to brush her teeth and use the facilities. He handed her a bag of toiletries and waited around the corner. The bathroom had ancient porcelain fixtures and was public as it had two stall and two urinals. 

“So, what is this place?”

“Yeah right, I’m just going to tell you… You should learn to be coyer.”

“What’s the point, you’d see right through it. I thought you’d respect directness more. You’re the one that said I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fair enough. It’s an old military facility. I acquired it for the bargain price of free. It’s so remote you can’t drive here.”

“Okay… so I get the toothpaste and everything- what’s the dish sponge for?”

“The nearest tampon is at least a hundred miles away. Rinse, boil, reuse…”

“Eww, seriously?”

“I boiled it.”

“Okay- not what I was ewwing about.”

“What do you think women used for thousands of years before Playtex?”

“Seriously? Okay how do you know that?”

“It’s called a book.”

“Fine, whatever. I can’t use it like that, but thanks.”

“Why can’t- seriously? How old are you?!? I thought kids were doing it at twelve these days?”

“Nope. Average age is going up, it’s seventeen now.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s called a book. Stop watching those Central Florida trailer park skanks on Maury Povich…” 

“Point taken. You avoided the question.”

“I turn seventeen on Christmas eve- in a month. So, when you kill me you’ll ruin another holiday for my dad. Mom died on St. Patty’s Day.”

“He’s Irish, or just on that day?”

“Now who’s changing the subject? My mom was from there. He’s only half.”

“Since we are on the topic of your ultimate demise, you made a serious mistake by killing the Keebler. The boss is sending someone else to finish your interview. Someone worse- he’s coming here too, along with a strike team. He can’t wait to meet you.” He smiled like the Chesher cat, “So, what exactly did you tell your friends?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

Nicky was waiting for Jason to finish showering at a unisex truck stop when Jason’s phone rang. She fumbled with it for a moment before answering it. She answered her phone N.P. but her accent twisted it to, “Impy… Code in. Breasts…”

Marta answered in a hushed tone, “Overrated… It’s M.S. I have good news and bad news. Good news is: I found your Blasian friend…”

“The bad?”

“I’m a leaf on the wind…” Nicky’s entire body went limp; it meant that her asset- Paz, was dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
